HOME  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 


HOME  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
OF  MODERN  KNOWLEDGE 

No.  96 

Editors : 

HERBERT  FISHER,  M.A.,  F.B.A. 
PROF.  GILBERT  MURRAY,  LlTT.D., 

LL.D.,  F.B.A. 

PROF.  J.  ARTHUR  THOMSON,  M.A. 
PROF.  WILLIAM  T.  BREWSTER,  M.A. 


A  complete  classified  list  of  the  volumes  of  THE 
HOME  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY  already  published 
will  be  found  at  the  back  of  this  book. 


A  HISTORY 
OF  PHILOSOPHY 

BY 

CLEMENT  C.  J.  WEBB 


NEW  YORK 
HENRY   HOLT   AND    COMPANY 

LONDON 
WILLIAMS   AND   NORGATE 


REPLACING 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PACK 

I      PHILOSOPHY  AND  ITS   HISTORY  .            .  7 

II      PLATO  AND   HIS  PREDECESSORS               .  14 

III  ARISTOTLE    AND     OTHER     SUCCESSORS 

OF  PLATO          .....  47 

IV  PHILOSOPHY       AND       THE        RISE        OF 

CHRISTIANITY            ....  78 

V      PHILOSOPHY     DURING    THE     MINORITY 

OF   MODERN   EUROPE          .  .  .111 

VI      PHILOSOPHY   AT  THE    COMING   OF  AGE 

OF   MODERN   EUROPE         .             .             .  127 

VII      DESCARTES  AND   HIS   SUCCESSORS          .  143 

VIII      LOCKE   AND   HIS   SUCCESSORS         .             .  171 

IX      KANT  AND   HIS   CONTEMPORARIES           .  186 

X      THE  SUCCESSORS   OF  KANT             .            .  210 

BIBLIOGRAPHY               •  s        •            •            •  2^2 

INDEX 255 


A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

CHAPTER  I 

PHILOSOPHY  AND   ITS   HISTORY 

"  WISE  I  may  not  call  them ;  for  that  is  a 
great  name  which  belongs  to  God  alone: 
lovers  of  wisdom  or  philosophers  is  their  modest 
and  befitting  title."  So  speaks  Socrates  in 
Plato's  Phcedrus  of  the  genuine  teachers  of 
mankind,  who,  whether  they  be  poets  or  law- 
givers or  dialecticians  like  Socrates  himself, 
know  what  they  are  talking  about,  and  can 
distinguish  what  is  really  good  from  what  is 
only  apparently  so,  preferring  what  can  be 
shown  to  be  true  to  what  is  merely  plausible 
and  attractive.  The  word  Philosophy  has  in 
the  course  of  its  long  history  been  used  now 
in  a  wider,  now  in  a  narrower  sense;  but  it 
has  constantly  stood  for  inquiry  not  so  much 
after  certain  particular  facts  as  after  the 
fundamental  character  of  this  world  in  which 
we  find  ourselves,  and  of  the  kind  of  life 
which  in  such  a  world  it  behoves  us  to  live. 

Sometimes  a  distinction  has  been  drawn 
between  natural  and  moral  philosophy,  ac- 
cording as  attention  is  directed  to  the  world, 
or  to  our  life  uv  it.  In  English  books  of  a 


8        A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

hundred  years  ago  "  philosopher  "  more  often 
than  not  meant  a  "  natural  philosopher,"  and 
"  philosophy  "  what  we  should  nowadays  call 
"  natural  science."  This  may  be  explained  by 
the  fact  that  it  was  at  that  time  a  prevalent 
view  in  this  country  that,  apart  from  what 
could  be  learned  from  a  supernatural  revelation, 
the  inductive  and  mathematical  methods  used 
in  the  natural  sciences  were  the  only  means  we 
had  for  discovering  the  nature  of  the  world; 
while  (apart  again  from  duties  prescribed  by 
supernatural  authority)  it  was  man's  chief 
task  to  be,  in  Bacon's  words,  the  "  minister 
and  interpreter  "  of  that  "  Nature  "  whose 
ways  by  those  methods  he  endeavoured  to 
search  out.  On  the  other  hand,  in  popular 
language  a  "  philosopher "  often  means  no 
more  than  a  person  who  in  the  conduct  of  his 
life  is  not  at  the  mercy  of  circumstance.  It 
is,  no  doubt,  suggested  that  this  is  so  because 
he  has  come  to  know  the  sort  of  world  he 
has  to  do  with,  and  so  is  not  to  be  taken  by 
surprise,  whatever  happens  to  him;  yet  the 
stress  is  laid  rather  on  his  behaviour  than 
on  the  knowledge  which  has  made  it  possible. 
Nowadays,  we  do  not  so  commonly  speak 
of  "  natural  philosophy "  as  of  "  natural 
science  " ;  and  an  astronomer  or  a  physicist, 
a  chemist  or  a  biologist,  we  should  not  call  a 
philosopher,  unless,  over  and  above  his  special 
researches,  he  were  also  to  engage  in  some 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  ITS  HISTORY     9 

speculation  as  to  the  fundamental  nature  of 
the  one  world  in  which  there  is  mind  as  well 
as  matter,  unity  as  well  as  multiplicity, 
individuality  as  well  as  general  laws,  and 
were  to  put  to  himself  such  questions  as  these  : 
How  are  matter  and  mind  mutually  related? 
How  can  what  is  one  be  also  many,  and  what 
is  many  be  also  one  ?  What  is  an  individual  ? 
How  can  what  is  not  individual  be  real  ?  and 
yet  how  can  we  describe  any  individual  at 
all  except  in  terms  which  might  at  any  rate 
be  applicable  to  other  individuals  as  well? 
Such  questions  may  be  provoked  by  the 
investigations  of  the  natural  sciences,  but 
cannot  be  decided  by  the  methods  used  in 
those  investigations.  So  long  as  a  scientific 
investigator  does  not  raise  questions  of  this 
kind,  he  cannot,  in  our  sense  of  the  word,  be 
called  a  philosopher ;  though  he  may  perhaps 
be  so  called,  if,  having  raised  them,  he  arrives 
after  consideration  at  the  conclusion  that 
they  are  unanswerable  and  therefore  not 
worth  raising  again. 

-  Philosophy,  says  Plato,  begins  with  wonder ; 
and,  certainly,  no  kind  of  animal  could  learn  to 
philosophize  but  one  whose  nature  it  was  not 
to  take  things  as  they  come,  but  to  ask  after 
the  why  and  the  wherefore  of  each,  taking  for 
granted  that  each  has  a  why  and  a  wherefore, 
and  seeing  in  whatever  happens  to  him 
(though  he  might  not  put  it  in  this  language) 

A  2 


10      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

no  isolated  fact,  but  an  instalment  of  a  single 
experience,  a  feature  of  a  single  encompassing 
reality,  within  which  all  else  that  had  hap- 
pened or  might  happen  would  also  be  included. 
But  we  should  hardly  call  this  wonder  or 
curiosity  by  the  name  of  Philosophy  until  it 
had  passed  beyond  the  childish  stage  at  which 
it  could  find  satisfaction  in  mere  stories,  such 
as  we  find  in  the  mythologies  of  all  nations, 
which  explain  the  origin  of  the  world  on  the 
analogy  of  processes  familiar  to  us  as  happen- 
ing within  the  world,  but  which  we  cannot 
conceive  as  taking  place  outside  of  the  world. 
As  Prof.  Burnet  has  observed  (Early  Greek 
Philosophy,  p.  10),  the  real  advance  made  by 
the  men  whom  we  reckon  as  the  founders  of« 
European  philosophy  "  was  that  they  left  off 
telling  tales.  They  gave  up  the  hopeless  task 
of  describing  what  was  when  as  yet  there  was 
nothing,  and  asked  instead  what  all  things 
really  are  now." 

The  men  of  whom  he  is  here  speaking  are 
the  members  of  a  school  of  inquirers  who  in 
the  sixth  century  before  our  era  flourished  at 
Miletus,  a  prosperous  city  founded  by  Ionian 
Greeks  on  the  coast  of  Asia  Minor.  It  is  with 
these  men  that  our  history  of  philosophy  must 
begin.  It  is  doubtful  whether  a  philosophy 
properly  so  called,  that  is  a  systematic  inquiry 
into  the  true  nature  of  the  world,  set  on  foot 
merely  for  the  sake  of  knowing  the  truth  about 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  ITS  HISTORY    11 

it,  can  be  shown  to  have  originated  anywhere 
independently  of  the  ancient  Greeks.  Speaking 
of  social  life,  Mr.  Marett  has  said  (Anthropology, 
p.  185) :  "To  break  through  custom  by  the 
sheer  force  of  reflection,  and  so  to  make  rational 
progress  possible,  was  the  intellectual  feat  of 
one  people,  the  ancient  Greeks;  and  it  is  at 
least  highly  doubtful  if,  without  their  leader- 
ship, a  progressive  civilization  would  have 
existed  to-day."  To  the  same  people  we  owe, 
in  like  manner,  that  disuse  of  mere  customary 
repetition  of  traditional  explanations  of  the 
world's  origin  and  structure,  in  favour  of  free 
speculation  and  investigation,  which  has  made 
possible  science  and  philosophy,  as  we  now 
understand  those  words.  Hence  we  are  justi- 
fied in  beginning  our  history  of  philosophy 
with  the  earliest  group  of  Greek  thinkers  with 
whose  theories  we  have  any  acquaintance. 
And  even  were  there  better  evidence  than 
there  is  of  the  existence  of  a  genuine  philo- 
sophy wholly  independent  of  that  which  arose 
among  the  Greeks,  it  would  still  be  impossible 
within  the  compass  of  the  present  book  to 
attempt  more  than  a  description  of  that 
succession  of  thinkers  who  stand  in  a  direct 
historical  connexion  with  the  development  of 
modern  European  thought  and  knowledge; 
and  the  first  in  that  succession  are  undoubtedly 
the  ancient  Greek  philosophers. 
With  the  Greek  philosophers,  therefore,  our 


12      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

history  will  begin.  From  their  time  onward 
to  our  own,  there  has  been  carried  on  within 
the  sphere  of  European  civilization  a  constant 
discussion  of  the  kind  of  problems  which  we 
call  philosophical,  with  a  conscious  reference 
to  the  conclusions  reached  by  the  chief  Greek 
thinkers.  This  discussion  has  been  at  differ- 
ent times  carried  on  more  or  less  actively, 
more  or  less  freely,  more  or  less  strictly  within 
the  lines  laid  down  by  its  originators.  There 
have  been,  as  Bacon  has  said,  waste  and 
desert  tracts  of  time,  wherein  the  fruits  of 
civilization,  philosophy  among  them,  have 
not  been  able  to  flourish.  During  these  the 
discussion  of  philosophical  problems  has 
flagged;  those  who  carried  it  on  at  all  have 
but  repeated  the  old  arguments,  and  even 
of  the  old  arguments  themselves  many  have 
been  forgotten  or  misunderstood. 

Again,  the  discussion  has  not  always  been 
carried  on  with  perfect  freedom,  without  fear 
of  the  issue,  "  whithersoever,"  to  use  a  phrase 
of  Plato's,  "  the  argument  may  lead  us."  It 
has  sometimes  been  supposed  that  a  super- 
natural authority  has  on  certain  points  en- 
lightened us  with  information  which  we  could 
not  contradict  without  committing  the  sin  of 
disloyalty  to  a  divine  teacher.  Sometimes, 
again,  the  very  increase  of  knowledge  as  to 
the  views  of  earlier  philosophers  has  hindered 
those  that  came  after  from  thinking  questions 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  ITS  HISTORY    13 

out  for  themselves.  Sometimes,  on  the  other 
hand,  new  experiences,  religious,  moral,  politi- 
cal, economic,  scientific,  aesthetic,  have  given  a 
new  direction  to  men's  thoughts,  and  turned 
their  attention  away  from  the  teaching  of 
their  predecessors  to  the  facts;  whether  to 
facts  which  those  predecessors  had  also  had 
before  them,  or  to  others  which  had  not  been 
within  their  ken.  At  such  times  there  has 
often  been  loss  as  well  as  gain.  Mistakes 
which  had  long  ago  been  corrected  have  been 
revived;  and  old  confusions  have  been  given 
a  new  lease  of  life  under  new  names. 

Thus,  this  History  of  Philosophy,  which  we 
shall  attempt  to  summarize,  although  it  is 
the  history  of  a  discussion  constantly  carried 
on  from  the  sixth  century  before  the  Christian 
era  to  the  twentieth  century  after  it,  is  not 
the  history  of  a  discussion  in  which  every 
point  made  is  made  once  for  all,  or  every  step 
taken  is  a  step  forward.  Rather,  it  is  the 
history  of  a  discussion  subject  to  interruption 
by  practical  affairs,  interspersed  with  digres- 
sions more  or  less  irrelevant  to  its  main  topic, 
conducted  now  slackly  and  now  keenly,  by 
disputants  of  very  various  abilities.  Yet, 
when  we  survey  it  as  a  whole,  we  shall  find 
that  it  is  a  discussion  in  which  a  real  progress 
can  be  detected;  and  in  which  even  inter- 
ruptions and  digressions  have  proved  refreshing 
and  suggestive. 


14,     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 
CHAPTER  II 

PLATO   AND   HIS   PREDECESSORS 

THE  problem  upon  which  the  philosophers 
of  Miletus  fixed  their  attention  was  that  of 
change.  Things  were  always  coming  into 
being  and  passing  away,  and  yet  they  did  not 
come  from  nothing,  or  pass  away  into  nothing. 
The  spectacle  of  the  world  was  not  a  spectacle 
of  new  beginnings  and  utter  vanishings;  it 
was,  rather,  a  spectacle  of  perpetual  trans- 
formation— but  transformation  of  what? 
What  was  this  one  thing  which  took  so  many 
various  shapes?  That  was  the  question 
which  the  earliest  Greek  philosophers  set 
themselves  to  solve. 

The  oldest  of  them  whose  name  has  come 
down  to  us,  Thales,  said  that  it  was  water. 
The  next,  Anaximander,  said  that  it  was  a 
boundless  or  infinite  substance  out  of  which 
are  segregated,  so  to  speak,  the  different  sub- 
stances with  which  we  have  to  do ;  not  only 
water,  which  Thales  had  supposed  to  be  the 
primary  matter,  but  fire,  which  is  its  opposite 
and  ever  wages  against  it  a  truceless  war. 
The  third,  Anaximenes,  identified  this  primi- 
tive substance  with  air,  or  rather  with  mist 
or  vapour,  which  could  either  be  rarefied  and 
heated  into  fire  or  condensed  and  cooled  into 
water.  All  these  three  philosophers  were 


PLATO  AND  HIS  PREDECESSORS    15 

citizens  of  Miletus,  and  all  flourished  in  the 
sixth  century  before  our  era.  Early  in  the 
next  century,  in  the  year  494  B.C.,  the  in- 
vading Persians  destroyed  Miletus,  and  the 
Milesian  school  came  to  an  end  in  its  original 
home.  But,  at  the  not  far  distant  city  of 
Ephesus,  there  was  then  living  a  philosopher 
who  must  be  reckoned  as  the  successor  of  the 
Milesians.  This  was  Heraclitus,  whom  later 
tradition  called  the  "  weeping  philosopher," 
because,  it  was  said,  he  always  found  in  human 
life  matter  for  tears,  whereas  Democritus  (of 
whom  we  have  yet  to  speak)  found  rather 
matter  for  laughter. 

Heraclitus  saw  in  fire  the  primary  sub- 
stance. Do  we  not  see  how  flame  is  per- 
petually nourished  by  fuel,  and  how  it 
perpetually  passes  into  smoke  ?  The  swiftness 
of  flame,  moreover,  is  so  great  that  we  may 
without  absurdity  think  that  man's  swift 
thought  is  of  like  nature  with  it;  and  the 
confusion  introduced  into  our  wits  by  over- 
much liquor  may  seem  to  confirm  the  sus- 
picion. "  The  dry  soul  is  the  best,"  he  said; 
and  when  we  speak  nowadays  of  the  "  dry 
light  of  science,"  the  phrase  is  an  echo  of 
this  ancient  theory.  The  mind  in  ourselves 
is,  then,  a  part  of  the  eternal  fire;  and  to 
this  eternal  fire  can  thus  be  attributed  the 
power  of  thinking  which  characterizes  our 
minds.  But  the  great  importance  of  Hera- 


16      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

clitus  in  the  history  of  philosophy  is  not  due 
to  this  new  answer  of  his  to  the  old  question 
about  the  primary  substance.  It  is  due  to 
the  stress  which  he  laid  on  the  unceasing 
process  of  flux  or  change  in  which,  as  he 
held,  all  things  were  involved.  As  the  hymn 
compares  Time,  so  Heraclitus  compared  the 
course  of  nature  to  "an  ever-rolling  stream." 
You  cannot  step  twice,  he  said,  into  the  same 
river;  for  the  water  into  which  you  first 
stepped  will  by  now  have  flowed  on,  and  other 
water  will  have  taken  its  place.  Now,  it  is 
easy  to  see  that  this  doctrine  of  a  universal 
flux  involves  very  serious  consequences  for 
any  one  who  should,  above  all  things,  desire 
knowledge.  For  how  is  knowledge  possible 
if  there  is  nothing  that  abides  as  it  is;  if,  as 
soon  as  any  statement  is  made,  nay,  before 
it  is  out  of  the  speaker's  mouth,  it  has  ceased 
to  be  true?  It  was  said  that  consistent 
Heracliteans  renounced  speech,  and  took  to 
pointing  instead.  They  criticized,  we  are  told, 
their  master  Heraclitus  himself  as  not  having 
gone  far  enough  in  his  saying  that  a  man 
could  not  step  twice  into  the  same  river ;  for, 
said  they,  he  could  not  do  it  once,  since  not 
for  one  instant  did  it  remain  the  same  river. 

It  was  to  a  certain  Cratylus,  who  flourished 
a  hundred  years  after  Heraclitus  himself, 
that  these  rigorous  deductions  from  the 
doctrine  of  the  universal  flux  are  attributed; 


PLATO  AND  HIS  PREDECESSORS    17 

and  of  this  Cratylus  Plato  (b.  427,  d.  347)  was 
in  his  youth  a  disciple.  What  he  learned 
from  this  teacher  concerning  the  flux  in  which 
all  such  things  as  can  be  perceived  by  the 
senses  are  involved,  and  concerning  the  con- 
sequent impossibility  of  really  knowing  them, 
stirred  him  up,  it  would  seem,  to  seek  else- 
where for  something  which  should  not  be 
thus  ever  in  process  of  becoming  something 
else,  but  should  admit  of  being  known  to  be, 
essentially  and  permanently,  of  a  certain 
nature.  We  must  here  note  that  Plato  took 
the  flux  of  Heraclitus  to  involve  only  such 
things  as  the  senses  could  apprehend.  This 
was  because  Heraclitus  and  his  contem- 
poraries had  recognized  no  reality  which 
was  not  corporeal.  They  were  not,  indeed, 
materialists,  in  the  sense  in  which  that  word 
implies  the  express  denial  that  there  is  any 
reality  which  is  not  corporeal ;  for  no  definite 
suggestion  that  such  a  reality  exists  had  yet 
been  made.  They  had  not  drawn  a  distinc- 
tion which  to  us  is  apt  to  seem  fundamental ; 
they  did  not  deny  to  mind  the  property  of 
filling  space,  which  belongs  to  matter;  nor 
did  they  deny  to  matter  the  property  of 
thinking,  which  belongs  to  mind.  To  Hera- 
clitus the  soul  could  be  dry,  and  fire  could  be 
wise. 

In  what  direction  did  Plato,  in  his  dissatis- 
faction, a  hundred  years  after  Heraclitus,  with 


18      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

the  Ephesian  philosopher's  doctrine  of  the 
universal  flux,  and  the  consequences,  so  un- 
acceptable to  an  ardent  aspirant  after  know- 
ledge, which  Cratylus  deduced  from  it,  look 
for  an  abiding  object  whereof  there  could  be 
a  true  knowledge?  He  looked,  we  are  told, 
in  a  direction  which  had  been  indicated  to 
him  by  Socrates. 

Socrates  the  Athenian  (b.  about  470,  d.  399) 
was  one  of  several  among  the  greatest  teachers 
of  our  race  who  have  left  no  writings  of  their 
own  behind  them,  and  whose  teachings  are 
known  to  us  only  through  the  reports  of 
others,  reports  which  it  is  not  always  easy  to 
reconcile  with  one  another  even  in  points  of 
great  importance.  In  the  case  of  Socrates, 
the  chief  of  these  reports  are  a  caricature  by 
the  comic  poet  Aristophanes  in  his  play  The 
Clouds,  which  was  first  represented  when 
Socrates  was  about  fifty  years  old ;  a  book  of 
reminiscences  (usually  called  the  Memora- 
bilia) written  after  the  death  of  Socrates  by 
the  distinguished  soldier  Xenophon,  the  leader 
and  historian  of  the  famous  retreat  of  the  ten 
thousand  Greek  mercenaries  in  401  B.C.  from 
the  Persian  highlands  to  the  sea;  and  the 
Dialogues  of  Plato.  Plato,  like  Aristophanes 
and  Xenophon  and  Socrates  himself,  was  a 
native  of  Athens.  As  quite  a  young  man  he 
had  become  a  disciple  of  Socrates,  and  when, 
in  later  life,  he  composed  the  wonderful 


PLATO  AND  HIS  PREDECESSORS    19 

presentations  of  philosophical  arguments  in 
dramatic  form  which  have  made  him  immortal, 
he  introduced  his  old  master  into  most  of  them 
as  the  chief  interlocutor,  putting  into  his 
mouth  (as  we  cannot  doubt)  not  only  what 
Socrates  himself  had  said  or  might  have  said, 
but  also  the  results  to  which,  though  Socrates 
himself  might  not  have  recognized  them,  Plato 
himself  had  been  led  in  following  up  the  trains 
of  reflection  which  the  talk  of  Socrates  had 
started  in  his  mind. 

Of  these  three  reports,  the  earliest  makes 
fun  of  Socrates  as  the  centre  of  a  rational- 
istic movement,  which,  to  the  old-fashioned 
Athenian  conservatives  whose  mouthpiece 
the  poet  makes  himself,  seemed,  in  its  en- 
couragement of  novel  theories  about  the 
nature  of  the  universe  and  of  a  reckless  delight 
in  clever  argument,  no  matter  how  unrighteous 
the  cause  which  it  was  used  to  support,  to  be 
fraught  with  the  utmost  danger  to  religion 
and  morality.  In  sharp  contrast  with  this, 
Xenophon  presents  us  with  the  picture  of  one 
whose  death  robbed  all  lovers  of  virtue  of 
their  most  helpful  friend,  a  man  pre-eminent 
for  piety  and  self-control,  an  enemy  to  all  idle 
speculations  which  did  not  tend  to  make  men 
good  householders  and  good  citizens.  The 
more  elaborate  picture  drawn  by  Plato  helps 
us  to  understand  how  these  two  very  different 
portraits  might  recall  the  same  man  to  those 


20      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

who  knew  him.  In  an  age  of  intellectual 
ferment  none  could  be  more  fittingly  taken  as 
the  representative  of  the  spiritual  unrest  than 
this  man  of  extraordinary  originality  and 
force,  the  effects  of  whose  conversation  could 
be  compared  to  the  electric  shock  given  by 
the  torpedo-fish,  and  whose  personality,  rough 
and  ungainly  though  he  was,  had  so  strange 
an  attraction  for  the  most  brilliant  of  the 
Athenian  youth  who  in  talk  with  him  learned 
to  be  dissatisfied  with  commonplace  ambitions 
and  conventional  acquiescence  in  things  as 
they  were.  Yet  those  who  kept  company 
with  him  knew  that  he  was  no  unprincipled 
dealer  in  idle  and  startling  paradoxes;  that, 
in  carrying  on  as  he  did  a  rigorous  cross- 
examination  of  all  pretenders  to  knowledge, 
under  which  the  most  noted  representatives 
of  "  advanced  thinking "  in  his  day  were 
made  to  seem  mere  plausible  praters  about 
things  of  which  they  were  ignorant,  he  was 
inspired  by  the  conviction  of  a  divine  mission ; 
While  the  simplicity  of  his  own  life  presented 
to  the  world  a  noble  pattern  of  victorious  self- 
control  and  cheerful  freedom  from  the  tyran- 
nous wants  that  make  the  worldly  man's  life 
a  perpetual  slavery.  In  Plato's  Socrates  we 
find  at  once  the  revolutionary  impulse,  pro- 
ceeding from  an  awakened  spirit  of  intellectual 
adventure,  which  we  miss  in  Xenophon's; 
and  the  moral  inspiration  which  it  was  not  in 


PLATO  AND  HIS  PREDECESSORS    21 

accordance  with  the  purpose  of  Aristophanes 
to  include  in  his  picture  of  the  arch-corrupter 
of  ingenuous  youth. 

It  was  as  a  corrupter  of  youth,  and  as  one 
who  denied  his  country's  gods,  that  Aristo- 
phanes presented  Socrates  upon  the  stage; 
and  it  was  in  the  same  character  that  in 
399  B.C.,  when  he  was  over  seventy  years 
old,  he  was  accused  and  sentenced  to  die  by 
the  drinking  of  a  cup  of  hemlock.  Very 
likely,  he  would  not  have  been  so  condemned 
had  he,  according  to  the  custom  allowed  by 
Athenian  law,  admitted  a  measure  of  guilt, 
and  proposed  for  himself  some  lesser,  yet 
considerable,  punishment  instead  of  the  capi- 
tal penalty  proposed  by  his  prosecutors ;  for, 
although  a  poor  man  himself,  he  had  wealthy 
disciples,  who  would  gladly  have  paid  a  heavy 
fine  on  his  behalf.  Nay,  had  he  consented  to 
let  his  friends  contrive  his  escape  from  prison, 
it  is  likely  that  it  could  have  been  effected 
without  difficulty,  and  he  could  have  spent 
the  remnant  of  his  days  in  a  comfortable  exile. 
But  he  would  not  admit  that  he  had  deserved 
any  penalty;  though  under  protest  he 'so  far 
yielded  to  his  friends'  entreaty  as  to  name  a 
fine  (of  no  great  amount),  he  plainly  said  that 
the  treatment  which  was  really  due  to  him 
was  an  honourable  provision  at  the  public 
expense  as  a  benefactor  to  his  country;  and 
when,  after  this  refusal  to  declare  himself 


22      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

against  his  conscience  to  be  anything  but 
innocent,  the  death  sentence  was  pronounced, 
he  would  not  by  evading  it  turn  his  back  in 
his  old  age  on  the  duty,  which  he  had  ever 
thought  and  practised,  of  filial  submission 
to  his  country's  laws.  Of  the  closing  scenes 
of  his  life  Plato  has  given  us  in  his  Apology, 
Crito,  and  Phcedo  a  picture  which,  as  a  pattern 
of  piety  and  courage  in  the  presence  of  death, 
is  one  of  the  spiritual  treasures  of  our  race. 

It  would  seem  that  neither  of  the  two 
charges  brought  against  him  was  true  in  its 
most  obvious  sense;  but  there  was  plausi- 
bility in  both.  What  were  the  grounds 
alleged  for  the  accusation  of  irreligion,  we 
have  no  distinct  information.  But  although, 
according  to  our  evidence,  religious  noncon- 
formity was  no  characteristic  of  Socrates, 
yet — even  apart  from  probable  failure  in  the 
popular  mind  (as  in  the  Aristophanic  cari- 
cature) to  distinguish  between  various  forms 
of  the  movement  of  free  thought,  of  which 
Socrates  was  the  most  conspicuous  figure, 
and  the  consequent  attribution  to  him  of  a 
destructive  rationalism  with  which  he  had 
little  sympathy — his  talk  of  a  divine  mission 
and  of  supernatural  warnings  peculiar  to 
himself  might  well  suggest  that  he  was  not 
content  with  the  religion  of  his  neighbours. 
Possibly  also  there  were  rumours  of  friendly 
relations  existing  between  him  and  circles 


PLATO  AND  HIS  PREDECESSORS    23 

known  to  profess  initiation  in  religious  mys- 
teries or  secret  rites  unconnected  with  the 
State  system  of  worship.  As  to  the  cor- 
ruption of  the  youth,  we  may  well  believe,  on 
the  word  of  those  who  knew  the  facts,  that 
the  remarkable  influence  exercised  over  boys 
and  young  men  by  Socrates  was  one  which 
made  for  righteousness  and  self-control,  and 
yet  admit  that  suspicion  might  naturally  be 
aroused  by  the  intimate  association  with  him 
in  their  youth  of  men  (such  as  Alcibiades  and 
Critias)  who  had  afterwards  become  notorious 
for  the  unscrupulousness  and  disloyalty  of 
their  political  careers.  Nor,  indeed,  can  the 
dissatisfaction  with  the  failings  of  his  own 
state,  which,  loyal  citizen  as  he  was  alike  in 
his  life  and  in  his  death,  Socrates  certainly 
felt  and  expressed,  have  counted  for  nothing 
in  unsettling  his  disciples'  allegiance  to  the 
standards  recognized  by  their  fellow  country- 
men. It  is  noteworthy  that,  of  his  two  chief 
apologists,  Plato  in  many  respects  preferred 
to  the  constitution  of  Athens  that  of  her  rival 
Sparta,  and  Xenophon  actually  passed  from 
the  Athenian  into  the  Spartan  service. 

There  are  few  among  the  celebrated  men  of 
history  with  whose  personal  appearance  and 
habits  we  are  so  well  acquainted  as  with  those 
of  Socrates.  Some  reference  to  these  is  not 
out  of  place  even  in  so  brief  a  history  of 
philosophy  as  this;  for  in  his  person  Plato, 


24      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

the  greatest  of  writing  philosophers,  saw 
incarnate  the  ideal  of  the  philosophic  life. 
The  contrast  between  his  ugly  exterior  and 
the  nobility  of  his  spirit  profoundly  impressed 
a  people  like  the  Athenians,  who  were  peculiarly 
susceptible — and  none  more  so  than  Socrates 
himself — to  the  charm  which  is  added  to 
intercourse  with  a  beautiful  soul  when  it  is 
housed  in  a  beautiful  body.  In  a  famous 
passage  of  Plato's  Banquet,  Alcibiades  com- 
pares his  master  to  an  image  of  the  grotesque 
and  pot-bellied  satyr  Silenus,  which,  when 
opened,  is  found  to  contain  the  beautiful 
figure  of  some  god.  The  same  dialogue  gives 
us  a  vivid  account  of  Socrates'  extraordinary 
powers  of  endurance  and  self-control,  which 
enabled  him  to  endure  without  defeat  alike 
the  utmost  rigours  of  military  service  and  the 
sharpest  temptations  of  the  flesh;  to  remain 
at  the  end  of  a  drinking  bout,  in  which  he 
had  by  no  means  abstained  from  his  share  of 
the  wine  to  which  his  companions  had  suc- 
cumbed, as  sober  and  clear-headed  as  ever; 
and  during  a  campaign  to  meditate  in  com- 
plete abstraction  from  all  surroundings  through 
a  whole  winter's  day  and  night.  This  singular 
capacity  of  rising  above  the  weaknesses  of 
other  men  was  united  in  Socrates  with  a  social 
charm,  a  keen  humour,  a  critical  perspicacity, 
which  made  it  impossible  to  disregard  him  as 
an  inhuman  ascetic  or  an  unpractical  dreamer. 


PLATO  AND  HIS  PREDECESSORS    25 

His  imposing  personality,  unaided  as  it  was 
by  rank  or  wealth  or  beauty,  presented 
philosophy  to  the  world  in  her  native  dignity ; 
and  the  would-be  philosopher,  whether  at- 
tracted more  by  the  "  rigour  of  the  game  " 
of  thinking  things  out,  or  by  the  desire  to  be 
independent  of  the  changes  and  chances  of 
this  mortal  life,  could  find  either  ideal  exempli- 
fied in  the  great  Athenian. 

We  have  now  to  consider  how  it  was  that 
Socrates  (as  has  been  said)  showed  Plato  the 
way  out  of  the  doubt  of  the  very  possibility 
of  true  knowledge  into  which  he  had  been 
plunged  by  his  assent  to  the  doctrine  of 
Heraclitus  that  all  things  were  in  a  perpetual 
flux.  We  have  seen  that  Socrates  was  con- 
temporary with,  and  was  regarded  at  Athens 
as  representative  of,  a  widespread  rational- 
istic movement.  The  leaders  of  this  move- 
ment were  a  class  of  men  of  whom  we  generally 
speak  collectively  as  "  the  Sophists."  The 
word  "  sophist,"  which  we  now  use  to  signify 
a  dishonest  reasoner,  meant  properly  no  more 
than  a  professor  of  wisdom  or  knowledge.  To 
his  contemporaries,  Socrates  was  himself  a 
"  sophist  " ;  and  it  is  as  the  arch-sophist  that 
he  is  caricatured  by  Aristophanes.  But  the 
title  was  one  which  Socrates  did  not  care  to 
claim.  To  the  possession  of  wisdom  he  made 
no  pretensions,  only  to  the  love  of  it ;  when  an 
enthusiastic  disciple  told  him  on  the  authority 


26      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

of  the  Delphic  oracle  that  he  was  the  wisest 
of  men,  he  was  seriously  perplexed;  and  the 
constant  cross-examination,  to  which  he  pro- 
ceeded to  devote  himself,  of  all  pretenders  to 
wisdom  that  he  could  find,  he  represented  as 
undertaken  from  a  sense  of  religious  duty,  in 
order  to  satisfy  himself  as  to  the  meaning  of 
the  God.  The  result  of  this  cross-examination 
was  a  conviction  that  these  pretenders  knew 
no  more  than  himself ;  and  he  concluded  that 
he  was,  as  the  oracle  had  said,  wiser  than 
other  men,  not  because  he  knew  more,  but 
because  he  was  aware,  as  they  were  not,  of 
his  own  ignorance.  Further,  it  seemed  to 
him  that,  even  if  one  had  possessed  wisdom, 
it  would  have  been  wrong  to  make  of  it  a 
means  of  worldly  profit.  The  profession  of 
it  in  this  way  by  his  contemporaries  had  led 
them  to  prefer  popularity  to  thoroughness. 
Living  by  the  applause  of  the  public,  they 
must  needs  say  what  the  public  liked.  The 
Public  itself  was  the  great  Sophist,  in  the  bad 
sense  which  his  disciple  Plato  probably  learned 
from  him  to  give  to  the  word,  and  which  it 
still  bears,  of  one  who  loves  gainful  plausibility 
rather  than  the  genuine  truth,  which  makes 
men  free  indeed,  but  not  rich.  He  himself 
charged  no  fees  for  his  instructions,  and 
remained  a  poor  man  to  the  end. 

Hence,    while    the    world    at    large    took 
Socrates  for  a  notable  sophist,  his  followers 


PLATO  AND  HIS  PREDECESSORS    27 

came  to  regard  him  as  the  great  antagonist  of 
those  who  could  properly  be  so  called.  These 
were  men  who,  for  the  most  part,  had  detached 
themselves  from  civil  ties  and  wandered  from 
place  to  place  (unlike  Socrates  who,  except  on 
military  service,  never  left  Athens),  gathering 
pupils  who  hoped  to  learn  from  them  the  arts 
of  persuasion  by  which  they  might  achieve 
success  in  their  respective  commonwealths. 
Men  associated  with  their  instructions  the 
spread  of  a  notion  that  the  distinction  be- 
tween right  and  wrong  was  not  natural  and 
permanent,  but  merely  conventional,  so  that 
(as  seemed,  indeed,  to  be  the  case  in  view  of 
the  great  variety  of  customs  obtaining  in 
different  places)  what  was  right  in  one  region 
was  wrong  in  another,  and  what  was  wrong 
under  one  set  of  circumstances  became  right 
when  they  were  changed.  It  appeared  im- 
possible any  longer  to  identify  (as  simple  old- 
fashioned  folk  were  apt  to  do)  right  conduct 
with  a  particular  set  of  customary  or  tra- 
ditional rules  of  behaviour,  without  being 
brought  up  at  once  against  exceptional  cases, 
in  which  the  rules  would  not  hold.  This 
disquieting  criticism  of  familiar  ways  of 
thinking  could  not  be  permanently  checked 
by  refusing  to  consider  these  exceptional 
cases.  It  was  the  distinctive  feature  of 
Socrates'  teaching  that  he  sought  by  further 
thinking  and  discussion  to  heal  the  hurt  that 


28      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

thinking  and  discussion  had  done  to  simple 
faith  in  moral  principles.  This  is  right,  or 
just,  or  brave  here  and  now — that  there  and 
then — the  other  under  those  other  circum- 
stances. Well  and  good ;  but,  if  these  state- 
ments are  to  have  any  meaning  at  all,  right, 
just,  brave  must  mean  the  same  in  each  case. 
We  may,  for  example,  admire  some  man's 
honesty  on  some  particular  occasion;  yet 
we  should  readily  admit  that  we  might  be 
mistaken  as  to  his  motives,  and  that  a  fuller 
acquaintance  with  them  might  make  it  plain 
that  there  was  nothing  to  admire.  I  thought 
(we  should  say)  that  he  was  honest ;  but  I  fear 
I  was  mistaken.  But  we  should  resent  the 
suggestion  that  we  did  not  know  what  honesty 
was ;  and,  if  we  did  not,  how  could  we  recog- 
nize it  or  even  mistakenly  think  that  we 
recognized  it,  in  the  particular  case  before  us  ? 
Hence  our  great  business  is  to  make  clear  to 
ourselves  what  we  mean  by  these  predicates 
(as  they  are  called  in  logic,  a  science  which 
owes  much  to  these  discussions) — right,  just, 
brave  and  the  rest — and  to  fix  our  meaning  by 
a  definition  of  each. 

It  was  this  assertion  by  Socrates  that  there 
were  permanent  natures  of  justice,  courage, 
and  so  forth,  which  it  was  the  purpose  of 
framing  definitions  to  express,  that  showed 
Plato  a  way  of  deliverance  from  the  doubts 
about  the  possibility  of  knowledge  induced 


PLATO  AND  HIS  PREDECESSORS    29 

in  him  by  the  Heraclitean  doctrine.  For 
these  natures  were  not  objects  of  the  bodily 
senses.  What  I  perceive  with  the  bodily 
senses  on  each  occasion  is  only  a  particular 
man  or  action  in  which  I  think  I  recognize  a 
nature  which  I  know  ;  but  this  nature  itself  is 
an  object,  not  of  the  senses,  but  of  the  under- 
standing. There  is,  then  (so  Plato  concluded), 
beside  the  world  of  sensible  things,  for  ever 
shifting  and  changing,  and  even  at  once  great 
and  small,  hot  and  cold  (for  such  terms  are 
always  relative),  so  that  what  is  said  of  them 
at  any  time  is  never  lastingly,  never  wholly 
true,  another  world  of  eternal  forms  or 
natures,  about  which  we  can  have  knowledge 
properly  so  called,  a  knowledge  which  is  pre- 
supposed in  the  very  opinions  which  are  all 
we  can  have  about  the  things  which  are 
apprehended  by  the  bodily  senses.  For  I 
cannot  even  mistake  another  man  for  you, 
unless  I  know  you;  nor  can  I  guess,  even 
wrongly,  that  such  and  such  an  act  or  man 
is  honest,  unless  I  know  what  honesty  is. 
Socrates  (we  are  told)  had  confined  his  sug- 
gestions on  this  subject  to  the  sphere  of 
morality,  that  is  to  such  definable  natures  as 
have  been  already  instanced,  to  which  it 
concerns  all  men  to  conform  their  actions, 
and  with  which  it  is  thus  of  practical  impor- 
tance that  they  should  be  familiar.  Plato, 
at  any  rate,  carried  the  line  of  thought  further, 


30      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

as  he  might  easily  do.  For  as,  in  order  to 
think  that  this  or  that  act  is  just,  we  must 
know  what  justice  is;  so,  also,  in  order  to 
think  that  the  line  A  B  is  straight  or  that  the 
lines  A  B  and  C  D  are  equal,  we  must  know 
what  straightness  or  what  equality  is.  Here, 
too,  there  is  a  permanent  nature,  apprehended 
by  the  understanding,  not  by  the  senses,  which 
does  not  become,  even  while  we  speak  of  it, 
something  else  than  what  we  are  saying  that 
it  is.  These  permanent  natures,  discovered 
by  Socrates  in  his  efforts  to  find  an  abiding 
object  for  our  moral  judgments,  which  should 
not  be  at  the  mercy  of  custom  and  circum- 
stance, became  the  corner-stone  of  Plato's 
philosophy,  and  are  called  by  him  Forms  or, 
to  use  the  Greek  word,  Ideas. 

This  word  Idea  is  familiar  to  us;  but  in 
modern  English  it  usually  means  something 
very  different  from  what  it  meant  to  Plato. 
With  us,  it  means  something  in  our  minds 
which  may  or  may  not  correspond  to  an 
independent  reality  outside  of  them.  With 
him,  it  meant  the  form — not  the  mere  out- 
ward shape,  but  the  inner  essential  structure 
or  nature  of  anything,  which  made  it  the  kind 
of  thing  it  was.  Even  when  it  was  what  we 
call  a  corporeal  or  material  thing^  it  was  not 
the  senses  (which  have  only  to  do  with  super- 
ficial appearances)  that  could  take  account  of 
this  inner  essential  nature.  The  Form  or 


PLATO  AND  HIS  PREDECESSORS    31 

Idea  is,  therefore,  the  proper  object,  not  of 
the  senses,  but  of  the  understanding.  Yet  we 
must  be  careful  to  remember  that  this  does 
not  mean  that  it  is  what  we  call  a  "  notion  " 
or  "  concept,"  something  which  has  its  being 
only  in  the  mind ;  it  is  that  of  which  we  have 
a  notion  or  concept,  but  which  does  not  by 
any  means  depend  for  its  existence  upon  our 
thinking  of  it.  We  may  help  ourselves  to 
remember  this  by  recalling  the  way  in  which 
the  modern  man  of  science  commonly  regards 
the ."  laws  of  nature  "  which  it  is  his  task  to 
discover.  He  does  not  think  of  them,  of 
course,  as  bodily  substances  which  he  per- 
ceives or  might  perceive  with  his  senses ;  but 
neither  does  he  think  that  their  existence 
depends  upon  his  or  any  one  being  aware  of 
them.  His  "  science  "  consists  in  ascertaining 
and  describing  what  they  are.  If  his  senses 
report  anything  inconsistent  with  an  ascer- 
tained law,  he  is  more  inclined  to  suspect  that 
they  are  deceived  than  that  the  law  is  not 
what  his  understanding  (starting,  no  doubt, 
from  experiences  got  by  means  of  the  senses) 
has  made  it  out  to  be.  It  would  not,  indeed, 
be  correct  to  say  that  what  Plato  meant  by 
Ideas  is  just  what  the  modern  man  of  science 
means  by  "  laws  of  nature  " ;  but  the  con- 
sideration of  our  attitude  towards  the  latter 
may  help  us  to  understand  Plato's  view  of 
the  former.  The  Ideas  of  Plato  are  the 


32      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

eternal  natures,  whatever  they  be,  which 
constitute  the  inner  reality  of  the  universe, 
and  which  alone  can  be  objects  of  true  know- 
ledge. They  are  not  perceptible  by  the 
senses ;  they  can  be  apprehended  by  the 
understanding  only.  But,  just  as  we  •  com- 
monly take  the  things  which  the  senses v  per- 
ceive to  have  an  existence  quite  independent 
of  our  perception  of  them,  so  the  Platonic 
Ideas  are  no  product  of  the  mental  activity 
by  means  whereof  we  apprehend  them;  they 
are  rather  its  presupposition. 

It  was  said  of  Bacon  that  he  "  would  light 
his  torch  at  every  man's  candle."  The  saying 
is  eminently  true  also  of  Plato,  whose  genius 
found  stimulus  and  suggestion  in  the  teaching 
of  many  predecessors  beside  Heraclitus  and 
Socrates.  Thus,  he  owed  much  to  the  Pytha- 
goreans, with  some  of  whom  his  master 
Socrates  seems  to  have  lived  on  terms  of 
friendship.  This  school  of  thinkers  took  their 
name  from  Pythagoras,  who  was  born  in  the 
middle  of  the  sixth  century  at  Samos,  an 
island  off  that  coast  of  Asia  Minor  where  the 
earliest  Greek  philosophers  taught,  but  who 
spent  the  latter  part  of  his  life  among  the 
Greek  colonies  to  which  Southern  Italy  owed 
its  title  of  Magna  Graecia,  or  Greater  Greece. 
*  Pythagoras  left,  it  would  seem,  no  writings 
behind  him,  but  was  the  founder  of  a  religious 
society,  which  in  one  city  of  that  region, 


PLATO  AND  HIS  PREDECESSORS    33 

Crotona,  succeeded  in  acquiring  for  a  time 
the  supreme  control  of  the  commonwealth. 
The  Milesian  school  of  thinkers  had  been  at 
no  pains  to  connect  their  philosophy  with 
the  popular  religion;  though  they  spoke  of 
"  gods,"  they  meant  by  the  words  not  con- 
scious beings  to  be  worshipped,  but  merely 
the  principal  elements  of  the  system  of 
material  nature.  But  Pythagoras  was  the 
leader  of  a  religious  revival  which,  if,  on  the 
one  hand,  it  brought  into  new  prominence 
certain  superstitious  beliefs  and  practices  of 
primitive,  not  to  say  savage,  origin,  on  the 
other  hand  deepened  the  sense  of  individual 
dignity  and  responsibility  by  its  doctrine  of 
the  immortality  and  transmigration  of  souls. 
He  was  at  the  same  time,  like  the  Milesians 
themselves,  a  man  of  science,  and  is  reckoned 
as  the  founder  of  the  science  of  geometry  and 
as  the  discoverer  of  the  musical  octave. 
Among  those  who  in  Plato's  day  called  them- 
selves Pythagoreans,  there  lived  on  both  the 
tradition  of  mathematical  and  musical  studies, 
and  the  tradition  of  a  serious  interest  in  the 
destiny  of  individual  souls.  The  latter  tra- 
dition was  connected  with  the  speculations 
and  fancies  contained  in  certain  books  which 
passed  under  the  name  of  the  mythical 
musician  Orpheus,  to  whom  legend  attributed 
a  special  knowledge  of  the  secrets  of  the  world 
beyond  the  grave. 


34      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

On  both  its  mathematical  and  its  religious 
sides,  Pythagoreanism  exercised  a  consider- 
able influence  upon  Plato.  He  was  himself 
a  great  mathematician,  and  is  said  to  have  put 
this  inscription  over  the  door  of  his  lecture* 
room  :  "  No  admission  to  any  one  ignorant 
of  Geometry."  His  account  of  the  Ideas, 
eternal  natures  which  do  not  come  into  being 
or  pass  away,  nor  are  in  any  way  affected  by 
the  lapse  of  time,  had  been  in  many  respects 
anticipated  by  the  Pythagorean  doctrine  that 
the  ultimate  essence  of  reality  was  to  be 
sought  in  Numbers.  To  this  doctrine  Pytha- 
goras' discovery  that  musical  harmonies  de- 
pend upon  musical  proportions  perhaps  first 
gave  occasion;  and  the  progress  of  natural 
science,  which  was  perpetually  extending  the 
range  of  exact  measurement,  and  describing 
in  mathematical  formulas  an  ever-increasing 
number  of  natural  phenomena,  would  con- 
tinually confirm  it.  Among  the  eternal  natures 
which  Plato  called  Ideas  must  certainly  be 
included  many  natures  beside  those  of  the 
numbers  and  figures  with  which  the  mathe- 
matician deals;  yet  we  know  that  Plato 
himself,  and  still  more  the  first  generation  of 
his  followers,  were  wont,  in  the  spirit  of  the 
Pythagoreans,  to  speak  of  them  all,  whenever 
they  could,  in  mathematical  language. 

A  like  relationship  to  that  which  connects 
Plato's  doctrine  of  Ideas  with  the  Pythagorean 


PLATO  AND  HIS  PREDECESSORS    35 

doctrine  of  Numbers  connects  his  doctrine  of 
the  Soul  with  the  Pythagorean  speculations 
on  its  immortality  and  transmigrations.  For 
Plato,  the  Soul  is  the  link  between  the  eternal 
and  unchanging  world  of  the  Ideas,  which  by 
its  understanding  or  reason  it  is  able  to  appre- 
hend and  survey,  and  the  world  in  which 
birth  and  death,  death  and  birth,  succeed 
one  another  in  a  perpetual  cycle.  Of  the 
movement  and  change  which  characterize  this 
inferior  world,  the  living  Soul  is,  according  to 
Plato,  the  cause;  for  it  is  the  only  thing,  he 
holds,  that  we  can  think  of  as  spontaneously 
moving  itself  and  originating  movement  in 
other  things  :  bodies  can  only  move  when 
pushed  by  others,  or  when,  as  in  living  beings, 
set  going  by  a  soul  or  principle  of  life  within 
them.  Plato  could  not  think  but  that  the 
Soul  must  share  the  eternity  of  those  Ideas 
in  the  apprehension  whereof  lay  its  essential 
nature  and  function  as  a  mind  or  intelligence ; 
while,  although  the  individual  beings,  which 
in  the  course  of  the  cycle  of  birth  and  death 
are  incessantly  coming  into  existence  or 
passing  away,  can  lay  no  claim  to  permanence, 
the  cycle  itself  and  the  Soul  which  is  the 
principle  of  its  perpetual  movement  are  with- 
out beginning  or  end.  But  this  immortal  or 
eternal  Soul  is  the  Anima  mundi,  or  Soul  of 
the  world;  it  is  not  your  individual  soul  or 
mine;  for  these  belong  to  the  cycle  of  birth 


36     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

and  death,  and  include,  along  with  the  appre- 
hension of  the  eternal  Ideas,  all  sorts  of 
imaginations  and  desires  which  have  their 
origin  in  the  perishable  bodies  with  which  our 
souls  are  associated. 

What,  then,  did  Plato  hold  concerning  the 
origin  and  destiny  of  your  soul  or  mine?  In 
trying  to  answer  this  question,  it  is  necessary 
to  remind  ourselves  that,  in  Plato's  view, 
Philosophy  is  the  apprehension  of  eternal  and 
unchanging  natures,  and  the  only  questions 
which  she  can  properly  be  called  upon  to 
answer  are  questions  about  these,  and  not 
about  the  past  history  or  future  prospects  of 
anything  which  is  affected  by  the  lapse  of 
time.  There  must  be,  of  course,  a  true 
answer  to  questions  of  this  latter  kind;  but 
all  that  Philosophy  can  say  of  them  is  that 
neither  of  the  past  nor  of  the  future  can 
anything  be  true  which  is  not  in  accordance 
with  what  she  knows  of  the  eternal  and  un- 
changing natures.  Hence,  in  cases  where 
there  is  at  hand  no  historian  or  prophet  who 
can  tell  us  what  has  been  or  is  to  be,  we  must 
be  content  to  fashion  for  ourselves  a  "  myth  " 
or  story,  of  which  it  is  required  only  that  it 
should  nowhere  contradict  what  we  know  to 
be  the  eternal  nature  of  things.  The  Dialogues 
of  Plato  contain  a  number  of  such  "  myths," 
which  suggest  answers  to  questions  of  just 
this  sort — questions  about  the  creation  of  the 


PLATO  AND  HIS  PREDECESSORS    37 

world,  or  the  origin  of  society,  or  the  destiny 
of  the  individual  soul.  For  these  last,  Plato 
drew  upon  the  traditions  connected  with  the 
name  of  Orpheus,  and  the  kindred  specula- 
tions of  Pythagoras  and  his  followers.  There 
is  no  reason  to  doubt  that,  while  giving  rein  to 
his  imagination  in  the  details,  he  really  believed 
as  a  matter  of  probable  opinion,  though  not 
(since  it  concerned  the  world  of  vicissitude) 
as  a  part  of  the  knowledge  attainable  by  philo- 
sophical discussion  properly  so  called,  that 
even  individual  souls  never  wholly  perished. 

The  apparent  recognition  of  truth  when 
presented  to  the  individual  for  the  first  time 
— as  when  we  say  of  the  solution  of  a  mathe- 
matical problem,  "  Yes,  I  see  that  is  right  " — 
seemed  to  him  best  explained  by  the  sup- 
position that  one  is  really  recalling  what  had 
been  known  to  us  in  a  previous  state  of 
existence,  but  since  forgotten.  Perhaps  every 
soul  passed  through  a  series  of  re-incarnations, 
in  which  the  nature  of  each  new  birth  was 
determined  by  the  moral  character  acquired 
in  the  one  preceding.  A  somewhat  similar 
belief  forms  an  important  article  of  the 
Buddhist  creed;  which,  however,  sets  before 
its  followers  the  hope  of  an  ultimate  deliver- 
ance, through  the  accumulation  of  merit  in 
successive  lives,  from  the  necessity  of  being 
born  again  at  all.  Plato,  since  he  does  not 
regard  life  in  Buddhist  fashion  as  necessarily 


38     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

an  evil,  does  not  speculate  upon  such  an 
escape  from  the  cycle  of  birth  and  death. 
But  he  is  earnestly  concerned  to  insist  that 
the  eternal  nature  of  things  requires  the 
destiny  of  any  soul  to  be  decided  according 
to  its  deserts.  The  doctrine  that  the  gods 
can  be  bribed  by  money  spent  on  sacrifices 
to  let  the  sinner  off  the  consequences  of  his 
sin  excites  his  strongest  indignation;  and, 
when  he  uses  the  language  of  the  Orphic 
poems  about  an  initiation  which  has  the 
promise  of  a  better  life  to  come,  he  makes  it 
plain  that  he  has  in  mind  no  admission  to 
assist  as  performer  or  spectator  at  external 
ceremonies,  but  the  entry  upon  the  life  of  a 
true  philosopher,  in  which  the  eternal  nature 
of  goodness  is  understood  and  the  conduct  of 
life  conformed  thereto. 

Beside  the  Pythagoreans,  another  school  of 
philosophers,  which  had  arisen  later  on  in 
the  same  part  of  the  Greek  world,  must  be 
reckoned  among  those  to  which  Plato  was 
specially  indebted.  This  was  the  Eleatic 
school,  so  called  from  the  south  Italian  town 
of  Elea  or  Velia,  of  which  its  first  teacher, 
Parmenides,  was  a  citizen.  Plato  introduces 
him,  in  a  dialogue  which  bears  his  name,  as 
visiting  Athens  when  Socrates  was  a  very 
young  man,  that  is,  in  the  middle  of  the  fifth 
century  B.C.  In  dealing  with  the  same 

problem  as  Heraclitus,  Parmenides  took 
\ 


PLATO  AND  HIS  PREDECESSORS    39 

exactly  the  opposite  line.  Movement  and 
change,  which  Heraclitus  saw  everywhere,  he 
will  have  to  be  nowhere.  Wherever  we  seem 
to  find  them,  we  are  victims  of  an  illusion. 
If  we  think  of  what  we  mean  by  moving, 
whatever  moves  must  move  into  some  un- 
occupied space.  It  is  true  that  it  may  do 
this  by  pushing  out  some  other  occupant; 
but  if  there  were  no  unoccupied  space  any- 
where, no  movement  could  begin  at  all. 
Parmenides  seems  to  have  considered  that 
to  speak  of  a  space  where  there  was  nothing 
at  all  would  imply  that  "  nothing "  was 
"  something."  This  appeared  to  him  to  be 
unthinkable;  and  he  was  sure  that  nothing 
unthinkable  could  be  real;  and,  indeed,  we 
do  commonly  assume  that  in  making  a  thing 
intelligible  to  ourselves  we  are  finding  out 
what  it  really  is.  Hence,  he  did  not  shrink 
from  saying  that  movement  and  change  of 
every  kind  were  illusory,  and  that  what  really 
existed  must  be  one  unchanging,  unmoving 
thing,  the  same  everywhere  and  in  every 
direction,  without  any  distinction  of  parts  in 
its  unbroken  unity.  Our  senses  present  us,  it 
must  be  admitted,  with  a  very  different  sort 
of  world;  but  the  senses,  which,  as  all  men 
admit,  often  deceive  us,  are  not  to  be  trusted ; 
we  must  correct  them  by  our  reason,  which 
can  make  nothing  of  a  world  of  change. 
We  can  understand  how  Plato,  who  himself 


40     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

had  found  no  satisfaction  for  the  aspirations 
of  his  reason  in  the  theory  of  a  world  wherein 
was  nothing  but  change,  would  be  disposed 
to  sympathize  with  Parmenides.  Indeed,  in 
his  own  doctrine  each  single  Idea  or  eternal 
nature  stands  to  the  many  sensible  things  or 
facts,  in  which  it  is  as  it  were  repeated  over  and 
over  again,  although  mixed  up  with  other  and 
even  opposite  characteristics,  very  much  as 
the  one  Reality  of  Parmenides  stands  to  the 
illusory  world  of  manifold  changing  and 
moving  things  which  the  senses  put  before  us. 
But  in  Plato  there  is  not  only  one  eternal 
nature,  but  many;  there  is,  therefore,  a 
multiplicity  and  difference  in  the  real  and 
intelligible  world  as  well  as  the  world  of  con- 
fused appearance  which  the  senses  perceive; 
and,  moreover,  in  Plato  this  world  of  appear- 
ance is  not  a  mere  illusion;  it  is  "between 
being  and  not  being  " ;  it  is  really  there  before 
us,  though  it  seems  to  be  what  it  is  not ;  it  is 
not,  as  Parmenides  had  made  it  out  to  be,  sheer 
"  not-being,"  without  reality  of  any  kind. 

Parmenides'  denial  of  the  reality  of  so  ob- 
vious a  fact  as  movement  no  doubt  seemed 
to  his  contemporaries  highly  paradoxical. 
A  pupil  of  his,  Zeno  by  name,  sought  to 
defend  his  master's  paradox  by  showing  that, 
when  we  try  to  understand  this  obvious 
fact  of  movement,  we  find  it  at  least  as  para- 
doxical as  Parmenides'  doctrine  that  there  is 


PLATO  AND  HIS   PREDECESSORS    41 

really  no  such  thing.  For  example,  if  the 
swift-footed  Achilles  should  run  a  race  with  a 
tortoise,  it  would  at  first  seem  easy  to  show 
that  he  must  soon  outstrip  it.  But  let  us  see. 
Suppose  Achilles  to  run  ten  times  as  fast  as 
the  tortoise,  and  the  tortoise  to  have  a  hundred 
yards  start.  When  Achilles  has  covered  the 
hundred  yards,  the  tortoise  will  be  ten  ahead ; 
when  Achilles  has  covered  the  ten,  it  will  be 
one  yard  ahead;  when  Achilles  has  covered 
the  one  yard,  the  tenth  of  a  yard ;  and  so  on, 
to  infinity.  Another  of  Zeno's  puzzles  is  that 
of  the  moving  arrow.  At  any  instant  of  the 
time  during  which  it  is  in  motion,  it  will  be 
at  rest  in  a  particular  place ;  a  cinematograph 
film  might  represent  its  flight  by  a  series  of 
instantaneous  photographs  in  each  of  which 
it  would  so  appear.  When,  then,  does  it  move 
from  one  of  these  successive  positions  to  the 
next  ?  These  and  similar  puzzles  have  proved 
of  much  importance  as  helping  to  show  that 
extension  in  space  and  duration  in  time  must 
both  be  regarded  as  continuous,  and  not  as 
discrete,  quantities;  that  is,  they  are  not 
made  up  of  points  and  instants  as  a  number 
is  made  up  of  units. 

Such  a  discussion  of  familiar  notions,  in- 
tended to  bring  out  their  difficulties  by  seeing 
what  will  follow  if  one  admits  the  position  of 
any  one  with  whom  one  is  arguing,  is  what 
the  Greeks  called  dialectic,  and  of  dialectic 

B  2 


42     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

Zeno  was  considered  the  inventor.  Socrates 
was  a  master  of  this  art,  and  Plato  was  so 
convinced  that  it  was  the  proper  method,  not 
of  finding  out  particular  facts,  but  of  getting 
to  the  bottom  of  whatever  view  it  brought 
forward,  that  he  sometimes  used  the  word 
dialectic  for  the  science  of  the  ultimate  nature 
of  reality,  which  we  call  Philosophy.  In  his 
Dialogues,  the  various  positions  from  which  he 
starts  are  put  dramatically  into  the  mouths 
of  men  who  might  naturally  hold  them.  His 
earlier  dialogues  are  suggested  by  the  argu- 
ments of  Socrates  about  the  meaning  of  justice, 
courage,  piety,  and  the  like ;  in  the  later,  where 
he  is  often  concerned  with  more  abstract  con- 
ceptions, such  as  unity,  identity,  difference, 
and  so  forth,  he  is  conscious  that  he  is  engaged 
on  problems  more  like  those  which  occupied 
the  Eleatics.  Accordingly  Socrates  is  no 
longer  unquestionably  the  central  figure  of  the 
piece ;  Parmenides  himself  or  an  "  Eleatic 
stranger  "  takes  a  part  in  the  discussion  no 
less  important  than  his. 

One  more  predecessor  of  Plato  must  here 
be  mentioned — Anaxagoras,  who  lived  in  the 
earlier  half  of  the  fifth  century  B.C.  He  was, 
like  the  Milesian  philosophers  before  him,  an 
Ionian  Greek  of  Asia  Minor,  but  lived  for 
some  years  at  Athens  as  the  friend  and 
adviser  of  the  great  statesman  Pericles.  He 
was  at  last,  however,  forced  to  leave  that  city, 


PLATO  AND  HIS  PREDECESSORS    43 

for  the  boldness  of  his  speculations  concerning 
the  sun  and  moon,  which  he  regarded  not  as 
divine  beings  but  as  bodies  made  of  the  same 
kind  of  stuff  as  the  earth  under  our  feet,  had 
incurred  the  suspicion  of  the  Athenian  demo- 
cracy. That  democracy,  then,  as  in  the  case 
of  Socrates  a  generation  later,  showed  itself 
impatient  of  freedom  of  thought  on  subjects 
touching  the  religion  of  the  State.  Especially 
this  was  so  when,  as  with  both  Anaxagoras 
and  Socrates,  this  free  thinking  was  practised 
in  circles  the  distinction  of  whose  members 
rendered  uneasy  a  sensitive  public,  ready  to 
scent  political  danger  in  any  kind  of  social 
or  personal  superiority  whatever. 

The  early  attempts  to  explain  the  world 
about  us  by  pointing  to  some  single  primitive 
substance,  of  which  one  could  assert  that 
everything  at  bottom  was  just  this,  had  failed 
to  account  for  the  variety  which  the  actual 
world  exhibits.  "  It  takes,"  as  the  English 
proverb  says  in  another  connexion,  "  all  sorts  to 
make  a  world."  How  are  we,  then,  the  better 
off  for  an  explanation  which  mentions  only  one 
sort?  Anaxagoras  allowed  that  things  were 
originally  of  different  sorts ;  but  these  different 
sorts  were,  he  thought,  all  at  first  mixed  up 
together  in  a  confused  mass  or  chaos,  from 
which  they  were  afterwards  sorted  out,  and 
a  proper  place  assigned  to  each.  To  what  was 
this  sorting  out  to  be  ascribed  ?  Anaxagoras 


44     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

replied:  "To  Mind  or  Intelligence."  This 
answer,  we  are  told,  made,  when  he  first  met 
with  it,  a  great  impression  upon  Socrates.  It 
seemed  to  him  a  new  and  a  more  hopeful  way 
than  those  suggested  by  other  thinkers  of 
explaining  the  wonderful  order  which  we  find 
in  the  world.  To  use  an  illustration  of  later 
date,  if  we  were  to  find  on  the  sea-shore  a 
thing  of  complicated  structure,  the  like  of 
which  we  had  never  seen  before,  our  curiosity 
would  be  satisfied  if  we  learned  that  its  struc- 
ture enabled  it  to  show  the  time  of  day,  and 
that  it  was  made  by  an  intelligent  human 
being  who  had  designed  it  for  that  very 
purpose.  Socrates,  indeed,  complained  that 
Anaxagoras,  having  spoken  of  Intelligence  as 
the  general  cause  of  the  order  of  the  world, 
did  not  go  on  to  explain  the  details  of  its 
arrangement  by  the  purposes  they  served. 
He  tried  to  do  this  for  himself,  and  was  thus 
among  the  earliest  of  those  who  have  set  them- 
selves to  trace  as  best  they  could,  in  the  adapta- 
tion of  the  bodies  of  men  and  animals  to  their 
mode  of  life,  evidence  that  they  are  the 
handiwork  of  a  wise  and  beneficent  creator. 

Plato  was  in  close  sympathy  with  his  master 
here.  When  we  are  puzzled  by  anything 
which  we  observe,  we  try  to  find  some  way 
of  regarding  it  which  will  puzzle  us  no  longer, 
and  at  the  same  time  show  us  why  it  puzzled 
us  before.  We  trust  our  intelligence  more 


PLATO  AND  HIS  PREDECESSORS    45 

than  our  senses,  and  are  ready  to  say  that  the 
thing  before  us  is  really  what  we  can  under- 
stand, though  it  may  still  look  very  different. 
It  is  thus  that  we  rise  from  the  world  which 
the  senses  perceive  to  the  world  of  Ideas  or 
eternal  natures,  wherein  is  no  inconsistency 
or  contradiction,  but  all  is  intelligible.  There 
are,  as  we  have  seen,  many  such  Ideas  or 
eternal  natures.  Have  they  nothing  to  do 
with  one  another  ?  The  mind  in  quest  of  the 
intelligible  will  not  be  content  to  think  so. 
It  can  only  rest  when  it  has  found  them  all  to 
be  members  of  a  single  system,  in  which  each 
has  a  place  assigned  to  it  by  a  principle  which 
determines  the  function,  the  good  of  each. 
The  vision  of  such  a  principle,  an  "  Idea  of 
the  Good,"  is  the  ultimate  goal  of  our  intel- 
lectual endeavour.  Such  a  principle  can  be 
no  mere  creation  of  our  fancy,  unless  the 
long  quest  to  which  is  due  the  attainment  of 
all  our  knowledge,  whether  that  by  which  we 
distinguish  the  common  objects  of  everyday 
life  from  mere  reflections,  shadows,  imitations 
of  them,  or  the  exacter  knowledge  which  we 
call  science,  has  from  the  first  been  all  astray. 
For  we  have  always  assumed  that  only  what 
satisfies  our  intelligence  can  be  real.  And 
our  intelligence  cannot  be  satisfied  unless  it 
be  assured  that,  in  the  last  resort,  it  is  no 
accident  that  things  are  intelligible,  but  that, 
if  we  have  discovered  what  they  are  by 


46     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

following  this  clue,  our  justification  is  that 
Intelligence,  akin  to  the  intelligence  which  has 
hitherto  guided  our  search,  is  the  ground  at 
once  of  their  being  what  they  are,  and  of  their 
being  known  to  us  as  they  are ;  in  other  words, 
that  there  is  immanent  in  them  a  divine  plan, 
which  is  revealing  itself  to  us,  as,  in  the 
adventurous  spirit  of  Socrates,  we  "  follow  the 
argument  whithersoever  it  lead  us." 

Since  only  through  acquaintance  with  this 
universal  plan  can  a  sure  foundation  be 
obtained  for  that  knowledge  of  the  due  place 
of  each  of  the  several  functions  the  perform- 
ance of  which  make  up  the  life  of  an  organized 
community  of  men — and  except  in  an  organ- 
ized community  human  beings  cannot  develop 
their  spiritual  capacities — the  rulers  of  such 
communities  should,  in  Plato's  judgment,  be 
philosophers.  In  his  greatest  work,  the  Re- 
public, he  has  sketched  the  training  which 
would  provide  the  State  with  "  guardians  "  so 
qualified.  It  is  no  merely  intellectual  training 
which  he  describes.  It  was  characteristic  of 
him  not  to  think  of  the  life  of  thought  as 
something  apart  from  the  life  of  feeling  or  of 
will.  The  genuine  philosopher  will  bring  to 
the  contemplation  of  the  Supreme  Goodness 
not  only  a  mind  trained  in  the  exact  sciences, 
but  a  passionate  enthusiasm  learned  in  the 
school  of  the  love  which  beauty  kindles  in 
the  young,  and  an  unselfish  public  spirit 


SUCCESSORS  OF   PLATO  47 

ingrained  by  military  discipline  and  by  the 
habit  of  a  comradeship  in  which  a  man  (or 
a  woman,  for  Plato's  "  guardians  "  may  be 
of  either  sex)  may  call  nothing  his  or  her 
own — not  even  (strange  and  monstrous  as  it 
seems  to  us)  wife  or  husband,  parent  or  child. 
When  Plato  died  in  347  B.C.,  he  left  behind 
him  at  Athens  a  college  of  his  own  foundation, 
called  by  the  name  already  belonging  to  the 
place  in  which  it  was  established,  the  Academy. 
This  institution,  whose  name  has  come  to  be 
a  synonym  for  "  learned  society,"  became 
from  the  first  a  centre  of  scientific  and  philo- 
sophical activity.  It  was  the  nucleus  of  what 
in  a  later  age  developed  into  what  we  should 
call  a  university,  and  its  corporate  existence 
lasted  until  the  confiscation  of  its  endowments 
by  the  Emperor  Justinian  in  A.D.  529.  Among 
the  young  men  who  studied  at  this  college 
under  the  founder  himself,  the  most  celebrated 
was  he  who  became  that  founder's  chief  critic 
and  the  great  rival  of  his  fame,  Aristotle  of 
Stagira  in  Thrace. 


CHAPTER  III 

ARISTOTLE  AND  OTHER   SUCCESSORS    OF   PLATO 

IT  has  been  said  that  every  one  is  born 
either  a  Platonist  or  an  Aristotelian ;  and  the 
names  of  the  two  great  Greek  philosophers 


48    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

are  often  opposed  to  one  another  as  repre- 
sentative of  two  contrasted  and  incompatible 
types  of  mind.  Plato,  it  is  thought,  stands 
for  the  "  mystical  "  or  "  idealistic  "  type, 
which  supposes  the  facts  of  life  to  mean  more 
than  meets  the  eye  or  ear,  and  overleaps  the 
bounds  which  nature  has  set  to  experience, 
in  order  to  speculate  on  things  which  are 
guessed  to  lie  beyond.  Aristotle,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  taken  for  the  champion  of  a  more 
cautious  method,  which,  holding  fast  by  the 
rules  of  a  strict  logic  and  keeping  close  to  the 
facts  of  experience,  reaches  positive  results, 
verifiable  by  observation  and  experiment,  and 
which  shuns  the  regions  of  vague  speculation 
in  which  the  Platonist,  it  is  said,  loves  to 
expatiate.  As  in  Raphael's  cartoon  of  the 
School  of  Athens,  Plato  points  upward  to 
heaven,  Aristotle  downward  to  the  earth.  A 
closer  acquaintance  with  the  great  writers 
in  question  might  probably  shake  the  reader's 
confidence  in  the  accuracy  of  this  popular 
view.  He^would  find  Plato  at  once  a  severer 
reasoner  and  a  more  practical  moralist  than 
it  would  suggest;  while  he  might  be  led  to 
doubt  whether  Aristotle's  temperance  in 
speculation  and  condescension  to  the  ideals  of 
ordinary  men  had  not  been  exaggerated. 

Aristotle  (b.  384,  d.  322)  was  a  member  of 
Plato's  college,  but  became  dissatisfied  with 
the  style  of  thought  and  teaching  which  pre- 


SUCCESSORS  OF.  PLATO  49 

vailed  there,  and  left  it  to  found  a  similar 
institution  of  his  own,  in  a  place  called  the 
Lyceum;  whence  what  in  England  is  called 
a  "  public  school  "  is  called  to-day  in  France 
a  Lyc£e.  But,  though  he  thus  separated  him- 
self from  those  who  had  been  his  fellow  scholars, 
Aristotle  always,  in  his  philosophical  writings, 
starts  from  the  position  of  a  Platonist,  and 
proceeds  to  develop  his  own  views  in  the 
form  of  a  criticism  of  those  Platonic  doctrines 
with  which  he  found  himself  unable  to  agree. 
Hence,  the  first  impression  made  upon  a 
student  is  that  of  a  perpetual  opposition  to 
Plato;  the  fundamental  agreement  in  many 
respects  between  the  pupil  and  his  master  is 
less  observed,  because  it  is,  naturally,  less 
insisted  upon. 

Aristotle  agreed  with  Plato  that  the  objects 
of  knowledge,  properly  so  called,  were  the 
permanent  natures  of  things,  which  are 
apprehended  not  by  the  senses  but  by  the 
understanding.  These  he  called  "  Forms,9* 
as  Plato  had  done;  but,  while  Plato  had 
employed  almost  indifferently  two  very  similar 
Greek  words  with  this  meaning,  one  of  which 
was  "  Idea,"  Aristotle  rarely  made  use  of  this 
latter  word,  except  when  referring  to  the 
special  views  of  Plato  concerning  them. 
Hence  it  is  that  the  word  "  Idea  "  has  in  the 
tradition  of  philosophy  become  especially  asso- 
ciated with  Plato.  Aristotle  took  exception 


50     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

to  the  language,  used  by  Plato  and  by 
most  of  his  school,  which  represented  the 
permanent  natures  of  beings  in  the  world 
around  us  as  though  they  existed  separately 
from  the  individual  things  which  "  partook 
of  "  them  or  "  copied  "  them.  Plato  himself 
had,  indeed,  been  aware  of  the  inadequacy 
of  these  ways  of  stating  the  relation  of  the 
many  things  which  there  may  be  of  any  one 
kind  to  the  nature  which  we  recognize  in  them 
all,  and  which  we  can  consider  by  itself  apart 
from  any  particular  instance  of  it.  We  may 
call  this  relation  "  participation  " ;  but  we  do 
not  suppose  the  nature  in  question  to  be 
parcelled  out  among  the  instances  of  it  so 
that,  of  many  beings  that  we  call,  say, 
"  great "  or  "  small,"  each  should  have  only 
a  part  of  greatness  or  smallness  dealt  out  to 
it,  as,  when  several  men  take  refuge  under  one 
sail,  each  is  covered  by  a  different  bit  of  it. 
Or  we  may  call  the  relation  of  this  common 
nature  to  the  instances  of  it  "  imitation." 
But,  if  I  suppose  the  fact  that  you  and  I  are 
both  men  to  be  explicable  only  by  saying 
that  we  are  both  copies  of  one  pattern,  of 
an  archetypal  man,  we  shall  have  next  to 
explain  the  likeness  of  each  of  us  to  that 
same  pattern  by  saying  that  there  is  some 
further  pattern,  from  which  you  or  I  and  the 
archetypal  man  are  copied,  and  so  on  to 
infinity.  Perhaps  the  best  answer  to  these 


SUCCESSORS  OF  PLATO          51 

difficulties  would  be  that  with  the  relation 
of  a  particular  instance  of  a  certain  nature 
to  that  nature  we  are  just  as  familiar  as  we 
are  with  the  relation  of  a  part  to  a  whole  or 
of  a  copy  to  its  original.  We  do  not  under- 
stand any  one  of  these  the  less  because  we 
cannot  describe  it  in  terms  of  another;  or 
understand  it  the  better  because  we  try  so  to 
describe  it.  But  if  this  was  what  Plato  meant 
us  to  infer  from  the  fact  that  he  admitted  the 
difficulties  of  such  descriptions,  while  holding 
fast  to  his  assertion  that  the  natures  of  which 
there  were  many  instances  were  yet  real  on 
their  own  account,  he  did  not  so  plainly  draw 
the  conclusion  as  to  make  his  followers  re- 
nounce the  questionable  language  about  the 
particulars  being  copies  of  the  common 
nature  which  he  himself  had  sometimes  used, 
or  to  satisfy  Aristotle  that  this  questionable 
language  did  not  need  to  be  decisively  repudi- 
ated, if  we  were  to  reach  a  true  comprehension 
of  the  relation  of  the  common  nature  to  the 
particular  instances  of  it. 

Aristotle  did  not  suppose,  as  many  have 
done,  that  the  common  nature  could  be  dis- 
missed as  no  more  than  a  notion  or  concep- 
tion of  ours.  This  suggestion  is  actually  put 
by  Plato,  in  his  dialogue  Parmenides,  into  the 
mouth  of  the  youthful  Socrates.  Parmenides  at 
once  disposes  of  it  by  the  pertinent  question  : 
"Is  it  a  notion  of  nothing?"  We  should 


52     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

have,  if  we  admitted  it,  to  allow  that  the 
natural  sciences,  which  deal  almost  wholly  with 
characteristics  common  to  many  individuals, 
were  a  mere  mind-play  of  ours,  and  could 
make  no  pretension  to  deal  with  realities 
independent  of  our  minds.  Aristotle,  at  any 
rate,  did  not  deny  that  the  Forms  or  per- 
manent natures  of  things  were  independent 
of  our  minds.  But  he  distinguished  in  the 
nature  of  things  characteristics  which  were 
substantial  (such  as  humanity)  from  char- 
acteristics which  were  only  attributive  (such 
as  greatness,  whiteness,  wisdom,  and  the  like). 
The  latter  were  only  real  as  belonging  to  the 
former ;  while  of  the  substantial  forms  them- 
selves he  held  that  only  in  our  discourse  were 
they  ever  separated  from  the  individual  beings 
whose  essential  natures  they  were.  Each 
individual  being,  indeed,  might  be  said  to 
have  its  own  "  form  " ;  in  the  case  of  a  man 
this  is  what  we  otherwise  call  his  "  soul." 
His  body,  considered  apart  from  the  soul  or 
principle  of  life  to  which  it  owes  the  structure 
and  functions  which  entitle  it  to  be  called  a 
body,  is  the  opposite  of  the  "  form  " ;  it  is 
the  "  matter."  When  several  things  are  of 
the  same  "  kind  "  or  "  species  "  (Aristotle 
here  uses  the  same  word  which  we  have 
hitherto  translated  by  "  form  "),  no  statement 
of  permanent  scientific  value  can  be  made  of 
one  such  thing,  as  a  member  of  the  species, 


SUCCESSORS  OF  PLATO  53 

which  cannot  as  well  be  made  of  another. 
The  predicates  in  such  statements,  which  will 
hold  of  many  individuals,  he  called  "  uni- 
versals,"  as  opposed  to  "  particulars  " ;  and 
hence  we  often  speak  of  Plato's  Ideas,  or 
Aristotle's  Forms,  or  whatever  corresponds 
to  these  predicates,  as  "  universals." 

It  is  only,  according  to  Aristotle,  in  the 
sublunary  world  that  there  are  many  indi- 
viduals belonging  to  one  and  the  same  species. 
This  is  because  bodies  -below  the  moon  are 
composed  of  a  material  compounded  out  of 
four  kinds  of  substance,  earth,  water,  air  and 
fire,  the  recognition  of  which  as  elements  was 
due  to  Empedocles,  a  very  influential  fifth- 
century  philosopher,  whose  home  was  Sicily, 
and  who,  according  to  a  legend  (which  Matthew 
Arnold  took  for  the  subject  of  a  well-known 
poem),  threw  himself  into  the  crater  of  Etna, 
in  order  that  so  complete  a  disappearance 
might  encourage  the  belief  that  he  had  been 
translated  without  dying  to  the  company  of 
the  gods.  These  four  elements,  themselves 
due  to  combinations  of  what  were  regarded 
as  the  four  fundamental  qualities,  hot  with  its 
opposite  cold,  and  moist  with  its  opposite 
dry,  were  tempered  together  in  various  pro- 
portions to  form  various  bodies,  which  in 
view  of  the  constant  opposition  between  their 
constituents  could  have  no  lasting  stability, 
and  must  therefore  be  perishable.  Hence  the 


54     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

multiplication  of  individuals,  through  the 
succession  of  which  the  species,  though  not 
the  individual,  could  realize  the  immortality 
after  which  all  things  are  consciously  or  un- 
consciously striving.  In  the  higher  regions  of 
the  universe,  each  individual  heavenly  body, 
being  made  not  of  this  composite  matter,  but 
wholly  of  a  superior  stuff,  the  "  quintessence  " 
or  fifth  element,  is  imperishable,  and  is  the 
sole  individual  of  its  kind,  not  needing  to 
secure  immortality  by  begetting  another  indi- 
vidual of  the  same  nature  as  itself. 

This  summary  sketch  will  sufficiently  show 
that  it  was  chiefly  to  the  phenomena  of  organic 
life  that  Aristotle's  attention  was  directed; 
and  it  was  to  them,  also,  that  he  went  for  a 
clue  whereby  to  explain  what  he  held  to  be 
the  eternal  circular  motion  of  the  heavens. 
Where  motion  is  due,  as  in  inanimate  bodies,  to 
impact,  the  impinging  body  must  itself  have 
been  moved  by  the  impact  of  another,  and 
so  on  for  ever.  But  in  living  beings  we  find 
another  kind  of  motion.  Plato,  too,  had 
sought  for  the  ultimate  source  of  move- 
ment in  a  living  soul  which  moved  itself. 
But  Aristotle  did  not  think  the  motion  of 
living  beings  could  be  strictly  described  as 
self-movement.  Their  movement  has  always 
a  cause  beyond  itself  which  acts  on  them  not 
by  pushing  their  bodies,  but  by  exciting  their 
desires,  and  need  not  itself  be  in  motion  at  all. 


SUCCESSORS  OF  PLATO  55 

For  desire  may  be  of  an  object  which  does  not 
reciprocate  it,  or  is  even  unconscious  of  it.  In 
the  last  resort,  then,  all  motion  must  go  back  to 
an  unmoved  mover,  who  moves  by  exciting  a 
desire  which  in  turn  brings  about  a  movement 
of  the  living  being  in  whom  it  is  excited. 
And  so,  for  Aristotle,  "  Tis  love,  'tis  love  that 
makes  the  world  go  round."  The  unmoved 
mover  of  the  universe  is  God.  God,  as 
supremely  good,  moves  the  world  as  the 
beloved  moves  the  lover;  but  he  does  not 
reciprocate  the  love  that  draws  all  else 
toward  him.  The  only  activity  which  can 
be  attributed  to  such  a  being,  perfect  and 
in  need  of  nothing  beyond  himself,  is  that  of 
knowledge ;  and  the  only  object  of  knowledge 
which  is  not  unworthy  of  him  is  his  own 
eternally  perfect  nature.  God  is  not  the 
maker  of  the  world,  which  is  itself  eternal ;  nor 
yet  is  he  its  soul ;  he  is  rather  the  perfect  being 
which  it  yearns,  so  far  as  it  can,  to  imitate. 

In  the  case  of  things  which  are  not  eternal, 
and  are  subject  (as  the  heavens,  in  Aristotle's 
view,  are  not)  to  that  kind  of  change,  from  a 
more  imperfect  to  a  more  perfect  form,  which 
we  call  development,  he  always  seeks  the 
ground  of  the  earliest  stages  in  the  result 
towards  which  they  tend.  This  is  often 
called  his  "  teleology,"  or  explanation  of 
things  by  their  end  or  "  final  cause."  The 
final  cause  of  organic  beings  is  commonly 


56      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

sought  by  him  not  in  their  utility  to  man, 
but  in  their  own  perfection  after  their  kind. 
Aristotle  distinguished  four  kinds  of  cause : 
the  material,  the  formal,  the  efficient,  the 
final.  Thus,  fully  to  explain  the  origin  of  a 
house,  we  should  have  to  mention  the  bricks 
and  stones  out  of  which  it  was  built,  the  form 
they  have  been  made  to  assume,  the  builder 
who  arranged  them  thus,  and  the  purpose  of 
shelter  which  as  so  arranged  they  are  enabled 
to  serve.  But  on  closer  inspection  all  these, 
except  the  first,  tend  to  coincide.  For  the 
builder  is  only  a  cause  of  the  house  so  far  as 
his  mind  conceived  and  his  hands  carried  out 
the  design  of  it ;  and  it  is  only  the  particular 
kind  of  shelter  that  a  house  (and  not,  for 
example,  a  tent)  affords  which  such  a  dis- 
position of  the  material  is  fitted  to  provide. 
The  efficient  and  final  causes  are  thus — as 
could  be  shown  even  more  clearly  in  the  case 
of  a  work  not  of  art,  but  of  nature,  such  as  an 
organism — alike  aspects  of  the  formal  cause. 
Thus  this  fourfold  scheme  does  but  elabor- 
ate the  more  fundamental  distinction  of  two 
factors  in  all  beings  that  are  not  eternal;  a 
matter,  which  is  capable  of  becoming  what 
when  invested  with  the  form  it  actually 
becomes,  and  this  form,  in  virtue  of  which  we 
call  the  thing  of  that  kind  by  the  specific 
(not  the  individual)  name  belonging  to  it. 
(It  is  here  to  be  remembered  that  kind. 


SUCCESSORS  OF  PLATO  57 

species,  form  are  but  different  renderings  of 
one  and  the  same  Greek  word.)  What  has 
itself  a  form  or  characteristic  nature  of  its 
own  (e.  g.  marble)  may  become  in  its  turn  the 
matter  or  material  of  something  else  (e.  g.  a 
statue).  We  can  never  come  face  to  face 
with  mere  matter;  apart  from  some  form  or 
other,  it  would  have  no  character,  would  be 
nothing  at  all.  On  the  other  hand,  God  is 
pure  form  without  matter,  since  in  his  perfect 
life  are  no  unrealized  capacities,  to  be  dis- 
tinguished as  matter  from  the  spiritual 
activity  of  knowledge  which  is  his  essence. 
This  activity  of  knowledge,  which  is  the  only 
one  in  Aristotle's  view  attributable  without 
absurdity  to  God,  he  naturally  regarded  as  the 
highest  possible  to  man.  Accordingly,  in  his 
Ethics  the  godlike  life  of  knowledge  is  that 
in  which  man  realizes  his  noblest  capacity, 
whereby  he  is  distinguished  from  all  other 
denizens  of  the  earth,  and  finds  therein  his 
greatest  happiness.  Only  because  man,  in 
whom  an  animal  nature  is  conjoined  with  the 
pure  intellect,  cannot  lead  this  life  without 
intermission,  does  human  happiness  involve 
also  the  exercise  of  the  social  and  civic  virtues. 
Man  is,  indeed,  by  nature  a  social  animal ;  he 
is  always  found  living  in  some  sort  of  society, 
if  only  that  of  husband,  wife,  and  children. 
But  what  Aristotle  held  to  be  the  highest 
kind  of  life  was  onlv  to  be  found  in  civilized 


58     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

communities  of  free  citizens,  such  as,  to  his 
knowledge,  men  of  Greek  race  alone  had 
shown  themselves  capable  of  forming. 

What  is  the  best  constitution  for  such 
a  community  he  sets  himself  in  his  Politics 
to  inquire.  Although  it  was  with  a  pupil  of 
his  own,  Alexander  the  Great,  that  there 
begins  for  the  Greek  world  a  new  period, 
in  which  the  old  city-states  were  reduced 
to  subordinate  membership  in  large  empires, 
Aristotle  does  not  seem  to  have  anticipated 
the  changed  course  which  events  were  about 
to  take.  He  still  pictured  a  civilized  state 
as  a  small  independent  commonwealth, 
occupying  a  single  city  with  its  adjacent 
territory,  and  not  too  large  to  allow  of 
all  its  citizens  taking  a  personal  part  in 
public  affairs.  Leisure  for  this  purpose 
was  to  be  secured  to  the  citizens  by  the 
institution  of  domestic  slavery,  which  Aris- 
totle regarded  as  based  upon  the  natural 
incapacity  of  some  men  for  self-government. 
Whole  nations  exhibited  this  natural  incapa- 
city by  setting  up,  when  left  to  themselves, 
a  despotic  ruler,  to  whom  all  the  rest  stood 
in  a  servile  relation.  In  the  free  common- 
wealth, political  equality  should  correspond 
to  real  equality.  To  any  member  of  the 
community  who  (like  the  "  heroes  "  of  Carlyle) 
should  be  marked  out  by  an  intrinsic  supe- 
riority to  all  the  rest  as  their  natural  ruler, 


SUCCESSORS  OF  PLATO  59 

£he  others  ought  to  submit.  Inequalities  of 
wealth  should  not  be  ignored.  With  Plato's 
abolition  of  private  property  in  the  ruling 
class  of  his  ideal  state  Aristotle  was  not  in 
sympathy.  The  end  which  Plato  had  in 
view,  the  realization  of  the  proverb  that 
"  friends  have  all  things  in  common  "  would 
not,  Aristotle  thought,  be  attained  by  such 
an  arrangement.  It  is  true  that,  in  the 
intimacy  of  a  close  friendship,  a  man  may 
know  himself  able  without  question  to  use 
what  is  his  friend's  as  though  it  were  his  own ; 
but  this  is  quite  a  different  matter  from  the 
common  use  by  two  men  of  something  to 
one  of  whom  it  belongs  no  more  than  it 
does  to  the  other;  for  such  common  use 
neither  implies,  nor  does  it  always  tend  to 
produce,  any  particular  friendship  among 
those  who  enjoy  it.  Aristotle  does  not,  then, 
exclude  the  possibility  of  one  free  citizen 
being  richer  than  another.  Wealth,  he 
holds,  gives  to  its  possessors  a  "  stake  in  the 
country,"  which  entitles  them  to  a  privileged 
position,  sufficient  to  save  them  from  lying 
at  the  mercy  of  those  who  have  nothing,  but 
not  such  as  to  enable  them  to  reduce  their 
poorer  fellow-citizens  to  helpless  dependence. 
Various  real  inequalities  having  thus  ob- 
tained due  recognition,  the  general  principle 
of  government  approved  by  Aristotle  is  that 
equal  citizens  should  rule  and  be  ruled,  turn 


60      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

and  turn  about.  If  Aristotle  does  not, 
like  Plato,  desire  to  place  the  control  of  the 
State  in  the  hands  of  philosophers,  who  are 
to  order  the  concerns  of  the  public  in  the 
light  of  their  knowledge  of  the  supreme 
principle  of  order  in  the  universe,  this  is 
not  because  he  takes  a  less  exalted  view  of 
the  functions  of  philosophy,  but  rather  be- 
cause he  regards  human  conduct  as  belong- 
ing altogether  to  the  world  of  change  and 
decay,  and  hence  as  no  concern  of  the  higher 
philosophy,  which  deals  with  the  eternal 
and  immutable.  Thus,  he  does  not  bring 
into  so  close  a  connexion  as  did  Plato  the 
lives  of  contemplation  and  of  action,  the 
man  of  science  and  the  man  of  affairs.  This 
is  of  a  piece  with  his  general  tendency  to 
find  fault  with  Plato  for  laying  stress  on 
unity,  on  what  things  have  in  common,  to 
the  neglect  of  equally  real  and  important 
differences.  He  regards  himself  as  called 
to  insist  especially  upon  the  latter.  Each 
main  department  of  knowledge,  he  holds, 
has  principles  of  its  own,  which  it  shares 
.with  no  other.  There  are,  indeed,  prin- 
ciples which  obtain  in  all  departments; 
of  these,  the  most  universally  applicable  is 
the  "  principle  of  contradiction,"  which  says 
that  nothing  can  be  said  at  once  to  be  and 
not  to  be  the  same  thing  at  the  same  time  in 
the  same  sense.  But  in  no  department  can 


SUCCESSORS  OF  PLATO  61 

we  gain  positive  knowledge  by  the  help  of 
these  alone  without  taking  into  account  the 
peculiar  nature  of  its  subject-matter.  Thus 
Aristotle  was  led  to  render  a  great  service  to 
the  progress  of  science  by  delimiting  the 
spheres  of  its  different  departments,  and 
mapping  out  the  field  of  knowledge  between 
them;  while,  by  insisting  on  the  importance 
as  a  preliminary  to  them  all  of  a  study  of  the 
general  conditions  under  which  proof  in  any 
department  is  to  be  reached,  and  of  such 
methods  of  inquiry  as  can  be  employed  in 
all,  he  became  the  founder  of  the  system  of 
logic  which  formed  for  many  centuries  the 
basis  of  philosophical  instruction  in  Europe. 
His  detailed  examination  of  one  very 
common  type  of  reasoning  or  inference  gave 
it  a  place  in  the  tradition  of  the  schools  as 
the  pattern  of  all  sound  reasoning  to  which 
it  may  be  questioned  whether  it  was  really 
entitled.  This  was  what  is  known  as  the 
Syllogism ;  as  an  example  of  which,  in  the 
form  considered  by  Aristotle  as  the  most 
perfect,  we  may  give  this  :  "  Beings  which 
<jan  reason,  and  they  only,  are  capable  of  a 
sense  of  humour;  Human  beings,  and  they 
only,  can  reason;  therefore  human  beings, 
and  they  only,  are  capable  of  a  sense  of 
humour."  But  there  are  many  sorts  of 
syllogism  beside  this,  in  which  the  struc- 
ture of  the  argument  is  the  same,  but  which 


62     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

fall  short  of  this  in  the  completeness  of 
correspondence  which  exists  between  the 
"  subjects  "  and  the  "  predicates  "  of  the 
propositions  concerned.  The  Syllogism  is  a 
form  of  argument,  we  may  note,  naturally 
assumed  by  discussion,  such  as  the  quick- 
witted talkers  of  Athens  practised  as  a  sort 
of  game,  in  which  one  man  made  another 
admit  two  statements,  and  then  produced  a 
consequence,  which  would  follow  from  putting 
the  two  together,  but  which  the  other  dis- 
putant might  not  otherwise  have  been  desirous 
of  drawing.  A  dishonest  player  of  this  game 
might  equivocate  with  a  term  of  ambiguous 
meaning,  or  might  in  a  long  argument  shift 
his  ground  undetected;  it  was  such  tricks  as 
these  that  Aristotle  exposed  and  classified  in 
the  list  of  "  fallacies  "  which  has  held  its 
ground  in  manuals  of  logic  until  to-day. 

Owing  to  the  predominant  influence  exer- 
cised by  Aristotle  over  the  minds  of  thinking 
men  in  Europe  during  the  Middle  Ages,  the 
source  of  the  greater  part  of  our  philosophical, 
and  of  a  large  part  of  our  scientific  vocabulary 
is  to  be  sought  in  the  terms  which  he  used. 
When  we  call  the  study  of  the  ultimate  nature 
of  things  metaphysics,  we  give  it  the  name 
borne  by  the  books  in  which  he  dealt  with  it 
because  in  the  collected  edition  of  his  works 
they  came  "  after  the  Physics"  Even  such 
familiar  words  as  habit,  predicament,  quality, 


SUCCESSORS  OF  PLATO  63 

accident,  and  a  vast  number  of  others,  which 
have  passed  from  the  language  of  the  schools 
into  that  of  daily  life,  are  originally  trans- 
lations of  technical  expressions  which  occur 
in  his  writings. 

In  a  picturesque  passage,  Bacon  has  ob- 
served that,  "  when  the  Roman  empire  was 
overwhelmed  by  the  deluge  of  the  barbarian 
invasions,  and  human  learning  suffered  ship- 
wreck, the  philosophies  of  Aristotle  and  Plato, 
like  planks  of  lighter  and  less  solid  wood,  were 
preserved  amid  the  waves  of  time  "  which 
submerged  the  more  weighty  works  of  other 
Greek  philosophers.  Of  these  lost  works,  he 
probably  had  chiefly  in  mind  those  of  the 
Atomists.  The  most  celebrated  of  these, 
Democritus  of  Abdera,  was  a  younger  con- 
temporary of  Socrates.  Like  Plato,  he  held 
the  eternal  and  ultimate  reality  in  the  world 
to  be  the  object  not  of  the  senses,  but  of 
the  understanding.  But  he  conceived  the 
nature  of  this  reality  very  differently  from 
Plato.  It  consisted  of  atoms,  that  is,  of  in- 
divisible (and  therefore  indestructible)  bodies, 
of  a  size  too  small  to  be  detected  by  our  senses, 
differing  from  one  another  in  shape  (whence  he 
could  call  them  by  the  same  name  as  Plato 
gave  to  his  ultimate  realities,  of  "  Ideas  "  or 
"  Forms  "),  moving  about  in  a  vacuum  or 
void.  We  remember  that  the  Eleatics,  holding 
the  existence  of  a  vacuum  to  be  inconceivable, 


64      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

were  led  to  deny  the  reality  of  motion,  since 
this  seemed  impossible  without  a  vacuum,  and 
so  cut  themselves  off  from  the  possibility  of 
giving  any  account  of  the  various  changes 
and  processes  which  constitute  the  course  of 
nature,  except  that  of  declaring  them  illusory. 
The  history  of  natural  science  in  modern 
times  has  shown,  on  the  other  hand,  that  a 
theory  which  supposes  such  units  of  matter  as 
Democritus  called  atoms  (whatever  difficulty 
the  notion  of  a  really  indivisible  unit  of  matter 
may  involve)  is  of  the  greatest  utility  as  an 
instrument  for  describing  a  vast  number  of 
physical  processes  in  terms  of  the  mutual 
combination  and  separation  of  such  units, 
which  are  regarded  as  themselves  remaining 
unchanged  throughout.  It  was  unquestion- 
ably a  hindrance  to  the  progress  of  natural 
science  that  the  great  influence  of  Aristotle, 
notwithstanding  the  respect^  which  he  felt  for 
the  learning  and  thoroughness  of  Democritus, 
was  cast  into  the  scale  against  the  adoption 
of  such  a  theory.  But  atomism  seemed  to 
him  to  stand  condemned  by  its  refusal  to 
take  the  "  teleological  "  point  of  view,  that 
is,  to  seek  the  deepest  explanation  of  natural 
phenomena  in  the  tendency  of  everything  in 
nature  towards  the  realization  of  the  best  and 
most  perfect  state  of  which  it  is  capable.  It 
was  just  on  this  account  that  Bacon  preferred 
its  method  to  that  of  Aristotle.  While  agree- 


SUCCESSORS  OF  PLATO  65 

ing  with  Aristotle  in  condemning  its  blindness 
to  the  evidence  of  design  in  the  world  afforded 
by  the  existence  of  structures  too  elaborate 
ever  to  be  explained  satisfactorily  by  a 
"  fortuitous  concourse  of  atoms,"  he  was 
keenly  sensible  of  the  danger  which  lay  in 
attempts  to  start  in  our  investigations  from  a 
consideration  of  the  purposes  of  nature,  of 
which  we  are  but  too  likely  to  take  any  short- 
sighted views.  The  English  philosopher's 
preference  of  the  Atomists  to  Aristotle  in  this 
respect  no  doubt  gave  encouragement  to  the 
subsequent  fruitful  revival  of  their  hypothesis 
by  students  of  natural  science. 

In  antiquity,  however,  neither  Plato  nor 
Aristotle,  who  were  the  greatest  thinkers  of 
the  age  which  immediately  succeeded  that  of 
Democritus,  did  justice  to  the  possibilities  of 
atomism.  The  two  hundred  years  which 
followed  the  death  of  Aristotle  were  years  of 
great  progress  in  mathematical  and  astro- 
nomical science.  They  were  made  illustrious 
by  such  names  as  those  of  Euclid,  whose 
Elements  was  the  textbook  of  geometry  for 
two  thousand  years,  of  Eratosthenes,  who 
first  used  the  method  by  which  the  size  of  the 
earth  is  ascertained,  of  Archimedes,  the  dis- 
coverer of  the  principle  of  the  lever,  of  Hippar- 
chus,  who  has  been  called  the  true  father  of 
astronomy.  But  the  researches  of  these  great 
men  lay  in  fields  in  which  the  help  of  the 
c 


66     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

atomic  theory  of  matter  was  not  urgently 
needed.  There  was,  indeed,  a  philosophical 
school  which,  during  the  period  in  question, 
adopted  it  as  a  fundamental  part  of  their 
system.  Its  attraction  to  this  school,  how- 
ever, was  not  its  scientific  utility  so  much  as 
its  apparent  inconsistency  with  the  doctrine 
of  the  divine  government  of  the  world,  which 
they  regarded  as  the  source  of  the  worst  evil 
that  affects  mankind,  namely  the  fear  of 
death  and  of  what  may  come  after  it.  In  more 
modern  times,  no  doubt,  scientific  men  have 
combined  a  belief  in  the  atomic  constitution 
of  matter  with  a  belief  in  divine  government, 
but  then  they  have  held  the  atoms  to  be  (as 
one  of  them — James  Clerk  Maxwell — put  it) 
44  manufactured  articles,"  and  the  world  to 
include  immaterial  beings,  which  were  not 
composed  of  atoms  at  all.  The  ancient 
Atomists,  on  the  other  hand,  held  the  atoms 
to  be  eternal  and  nothing  to  exist  that  was  not 
an  assemblage  of  atoms,  except  the  void  in 
which  the  atoms  moved.  The  school  to  whose 
adoption  of  atomism  as  a  remedy  against 
the  terrors  of  religion  I  have  referred  was  the 
Epicurean.  .  *«\\. 

The  name  of  Epicurean  very  early  became 
a  synonym  for  sensualist ;  but  this  was  rather 
because  sensualists  could  claim  for  their  lives 
the  sanction  of  the  Epicurean  principle  that 
pleasure  is  the  chief  good,  at  which  alone  it  is 


SUCCESSORS  OF  PLATO  67 

reasonable  to  aim,  than  because  either  the 
founder  of  the  school  (Epicurus,  b.  341,  d.  270) 
— whose  personal  character  and  teaching  won 
the  respect  even  of  professed  opponents  of  his 
philosophy — or  his  chief  followers  recom- 
mended by  precept  or  example  a  life  of  sensual 
self-indulgence  as  the  best  means  of  attaining 
their  goal.  It  cannot,  indeed,  be  denied  that, 
speaking  generally,  that  man  would  be  likely 
to  secure  for  himself  the  greatest  amount  of 
pleasure  and  the  least  amount  of  pain  who, 
like  Epicurus  himself,  should  live  temperately 
and  with  dignity,  surrounded  by  sympathetic 
friends,  avoiding  entanglement  in  harassing 
duties  or  exacting  studies,  and  dispensing  with 
anxious  apprehensions  of  a  future  state  of 
existence.  But  it  is  also  undeniable  that 
against  a  man  who  should  think  that,  under 
his  special  circumstances,  his  best  chance  of 
passing  his  allotted  time  pleasantly  lay  in  a 
"  short  and  merry  "  life  of  debauch,  it  would 
be  difficult  for  a  consistent  Epicurean  to 
maintain  the  superior  advantages  for  such  a 
person  of  what  the  world  is  agreed  to  regard 
as  a  more  virtuous  course. 

The  Epicurean  school  was  confronted  from 
its  cradle  by  another,  founded  like  itself  at 
the  end  of  the  fourth  century  B.C.,  and  known, 
not  by  the  name  of  its  founder  Zeno,  but  by 
that  of  the  Painted  Stoa  or  Porch  in  Athens 
where  he  was  accustomed  to  teach.  This 


68      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

school  opposed  to  the  doctrine  that  the  chief 
good  was  pleasure  the  doctrine  that  it  was 
virtue.  These  two  sharply  contrasted  doc- 
trines continued  for  many  centuries  to  divide 
the  allegiance  of  a  majority  of  thoughtful  men 
in  the  countries  which,  at  the  beginning  of  the 
Christian  era,  formed  the  heart  of  the  Roman 
empire.  It  will  be  remembered  that  the 
philosophers  whom  the  Apostle  Paul  is  related 
(Acts  xvii.  18)  to  have  encountered  on  his 
visit  to  Athens  were  representatives  of  the 
Epicureans  and  Stoics.  With  both  schools, 
the  central  interest  was  not  so  much  (as  with 
most  of  the  thinkers  with  whom  we  have 
hitherto  been  concerned)  the  attainment  of 
the  ultimate  truth  about  the  universe,  as  the 
discovery  of  the  kind  of  life  capable  of  best 
satisfying  the  individual's  aspirations  after 
happiness.  The  Stoics,  who  were  wont  to 
describe  the  best  life  as  a  "  life  according  to 
nature,"  set,  indeed,  a  high  value  on  the 
knowledge  of  the  universal  order,  wherein  an 
immutable  destiny,  or  rather  divine  provi- 
dence, had  assigned  to  each  of  us  a  place,  in 
the  devout  and  cheerful  acceptance  of  which 
lay  the  true  secret  of  serenity  among  the 
changes  and  chances  incident  thereto.  But, 
even  so,  intellectual  or  scientific  activity  is 
deposed  from  the  place  which  it  enjoyed  in 
the  estimation  of  a  Plato  or  an  Aristotle  to 
the  rank  of  an  instrument  of  moral  elevation ; 


SUCCESSORS  OF  PLATO          69 

while  to  a  consistent  Epicurean — except  so 
far  as  it  served  to  dissipate  the  superstitious 
terrors,  as  man's  deliverer  from  which  the 
founder  of  his  school  seemed  to  the  great 
Epicurean  poet  Lucretius  (b.  96,  d.  55)  worthy 
himself  to  be  called  a  god — it  could  hardly  be 
more  than  a  refined  pastime. 

We  are  thus  not  surprised  to  find  that  the 
Epicureans  contributed  little  to  the  advance 
of  scientific  or  philosophical  inquiry.  They 
adopted  as  their  own  the  atomic  theory  of 
Democritus ;  but  in  their  hands  it  was  neither 
enabled  to  meet  the  objections  which  may  be 
raised  against  it  as  a  theory  of  the  ultimate 
nature  of  reality,  nor  made  to  exhibit  its 
great  capacities  as  an  instrument  of  scientific 
description  and  discovery.  Nor  yet  can  the 
Stoics,  though  some  among  them  were  eminent 
for  their  writings  on  certain  branches  of  natural 
knowledge,  be  credited  with  any  important 
advance  in  speculation,  except  on  the  subject 
of  morality.  In  their  theory  of  the  world 
they  attached  themselves  to  Heraclitus,  and 
the  divine  reason,  which  they  held  to  be  im- 
manent in  the  world,  "  reaching  "  like  Wisdom 
in  the  Wisdom  of  Solomon  (viii.  1)  "  from 
one  end  to  another  mightily,  and  sweetly 
ordering  all  things,"  they  conceived  not 
as  an  immaterial  spirit,  but  as  of  a  fiery 
nature.  Thus  both  schools,  by  identifying 
the  real  with  the  material,  may  be  said  to 


70     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

have  fallen  back  from  Plato,  who  had  been 
the  first  clearly  to  distinguish  the  two  con- 
ceptions. But  the  main  interest  of  both 
schools  lay,  as  we  have  seen,  elsewhere, 
namely,  in  the  problem  of  conduct.  Nor  was 
this  wonderful,  considering  the  circumstances 
of  the  period  in  which  they  flourished.  The 
days  of  the  old  independent  city-states  of 
Greece  were  passing  when  Epicurus  and 
Zeno  taught;  when  St.  Paul  encountered 
their  followers,  the  whole  Greek  world  was 
already  subject  to  the  Roman  emperors. 
Anxiety  as  to  what  one  ought  to  do  was 
bound  to  increase  among  men  who  had  no 
longer  to  occupy  them  the  obvious  duties, 
administrative,  military  or  judicial,  which 
had  hi  earlier  days  awaited  as  a  matter  of 
course  the  members  of  a  small  sovereign  com- 
munity like  Athens  in  the  time  of  Socrates. 

Yet  we  have  already  seen  that  the  teach- 
ing of  this  very  Socrates,  though  himself  a 
dutiful  citizen,  had  in  many  cases  tended  to 
produce  in  his  admirers  a  spirit  of  dissatis- 
faction with  the  traditional  standards  which, 
to  their  fellow-citizens,  seemed  bound  up  with 
the  maintenance  of  the  old  civic  loyalty.  We 
find,  too,  that  his  example  of  a  personal 
independence,  secured  by  his  refusal  to  en- 
tangle himself  with  the  world  by  the  pursuit 
of  wealth  or  honours,  inspired  two  remarkable 
men  of  his  own  generation,  Aristippus  and 


SUCCESSORS  OF  PLATO          71 

Antisthenes,  with  a  zeal  for  the  ideal  of  self- 
sufficient  freedom  for  the  individual,  which 
carried  them  into  one-sided  exaggerations  of 
their  model.  Two  schools  of  philosophy  thus 
took  their  rise.  One  was  the  Cyrenaic,  taking 
its  name  from  Aristippus'  native  city  of 
Cyrene  (in  the  modern  Tripoli),  which  taught 
that  men  should  live  in  the  present,  neither 
troubling  themselves  about  the  past,  nor 
taking  thought  for  the  morrow,  and  not 
refusing  any  pleasure  that  came  their  way,  so 
long  as  they  were  not  brought  under  the 
power  of  it.  The  other,  the  school  of  Antis- 
thenes, sought  a  like  end  rather  by  the  opposite 
method  of  refusing  whatever  one  could  do 
without.  Thus,  its  most  celebrated  member, 
Diogenes  (of  whose  tub-dwelling  every  one 
has  heard),  dispensed  even  with  a  drinking 
cup  when  he  had  observed  a  boy  drinking 
from  the  palm  of  his  hand.  This  school  was 
called  the  Cynic,  from  the  Greek  word  for 
Dog,  given  as  a  nickname  to  Diogenes  (d.  323), 
because  of  the  shameless  disregard  for  the 
conventions  and  even  the  decencies  of  life 
which  his  resolution  to  simplify  his  manner  of 
existence  to  the  uttermost  led  him  to  illustrate 
or  defend.  We  still  describe  an  ungenial  con- 
tempt for  popular  sentiment  as  "  cynicism." 

'  Such  principles  as  those  of  either  Cyrenaic 
or  Cynic  were  already  out  of  tune  with 
the  old-fashioned  feeling  that  the  laws  and 


72     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

customs  of  one's  city  belonged  to  the  very 
substance  of  one's  life;  and  it  was  a  Cynic 
who  first  boasted  that  he  was  citizen  of 
no  particular  city,  but  of  the  world  —  a 
"  cosmopolitan."  These  two  schools  pre- 
pared the  way  for  Epicureanism  and  Stoicism 
respectively;  yet  each  continued  its  separate 
existence  after  the  rise  of  the  later  systems. 
For  neither  was  in  all  respects  at  one  with 
its  successor.  The  Epicurean's  ideal  was 
a  life  in  which  there  was  as  little  pain  as 
possible,  while  the  Cyrenaic  stood  ready  to 
enjoy — though  without  surrendering  himself 
to  it — whatever  pleasure  any  moment  might 
bring.  The  Cynic  and  the  Stoic  both  pro- 
fessed to  live  a  life  according  to  nature;  but 
to  the  Cynic  that  was  apt  to  seem  natural 
which  had  in  it  the  least  trace  of  artifice, 
and  therefore  approached  most  nearly  to 
the  animal;  while  the  Stoic  gave  the  name 
to  what  reason  showed  to  agree  best  with 
man's  special  place  in  nature,  or  even  with 
the  special  place  marked  out  for  a  parti- 
cular man  by  the  circumstances  of  a  social 
position  which  was,  after  all,  itself  the  appoint- 
ment of  destiny  and  of  God. 

Nothing,  indeed,  was  more  characteristic 
of  the  Stoics  than  their  profound  belief  in 
such  a  divine  apportionment  of  human  lots. 
With  them  the  claim  to  "  citizenship  of  the 
world,"  which  they,  like  the  Cynics  before 


SUCCESSORS  OF  PLATO  73 

them,  made  for  themselves,  became  no  mere 
refusal  to  acknowledge  any  narrower  citizen- 
ship, but  the  expression  of  a  genuine  con- 
viction that  the  universe  could  claim  from 
those  of  its  inhabitants  who  were  capable  of 
apprehending  and  rejoicing  in  its  wonderful 
order  a  loyal  devotion  at  least  as  real  as  that 
which  the  patriot  entertains  for  the  imperfect 
institutions  of  his  native  land.  "  The  poet," 
cries  the  Stoic  emperor  Marcus  Aurelius, 
"  can  address  Athens  as  '  Thou  dear  city  of 
Cecrops';  canst  thou  not  address  the  Uni- 
verse as  '  Thou  dear  city  of  God  '  ?  "  It  was 
not  surprising  that  the  Stoic  was,  of  all  the 
Greek  schools,  the  one  which  made  itself  most 
at  home  among  the  Romans,  who  in  less  than 
two  centuries  after  the  death  of  the  founder 
of  that  school  had  become  masters  of  the 
Greek-speaking  world.  Love  of  knowledge 
and  delight  in  beauty,  the  indulgence  of 
subtle  doubts  and  the  cultivation  of  refined 
pleasures,  were  all  alike  uncongenial  to  the 
Roman  temper.  This  was  inclined  to  charge 
their  representatives  among  Greek  professors 
of  philosophy  with  a  frivolity  dangerous  to 
the  sense  of  discipline  and  public  duty,  which 
had  hitherto  been  the  mainstay  of  the  Roman 
state.  But  such  suspicions  were  less  aroused 
by  the  Stoics  than  by  any  of  their  rivals.  Re- 
garding the  world  as  a  commonwealth  under 
the  sovereignty  of  God,  wherein  every  man 

C  2 


74     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

was  bound  to  subordinate  his  private  in- 
terest to  that  of  the  whole,  they  took  a  view 
of  life  very  consonant  with  the  best  Roman 
tradition;  while  their  deep  sense  of  a  divine 
power,  everywhere  present,  disposed  them 
not  only  readily  to  conform  to  established 
religious  customs,  but  to  give  to  them,  where 
possible,  an  interpretation  consistent  with 
their  own  philosophy.  Thus  in  a  world 
wherein,  according  to  the  Stoics  (as  to  many 
modern  men  of  science),  the  whole  course  of 
events  is  rigidly  determined  or  predestined, 
it  might  well  be  that  nothing  could  be  other- 
wise than  it  is  without  a  corresponding  change 
in  everything  else.  Hence  there  would  be 
nothing  incredible  in  a  specially  enlightened 
mind  being  able  to  infer,  as  the  old  diviners 
professed  to  do,  from  the  state  of  the  entrails 
of  a  sacrificed  animal,  the  event  of  a  battle 
which  had  not  yet  been  fought.  But  if  the 
moral  and  religious  temper  of  Stoicism  thus 
won  it  a  special  welcome  at  Rome,  there  was 
also  something  in  the  temper  of  the  Roman 
people  which  was  peculiarly  congenial  to 
the  Stoic  philosophy.  This  was  what  has 
been  well  called  x  "  the  sense  of  justice  and 
law,  which  marked  out  the  Roman  people 
among  all  the  nations  of  antiquity,  and  which 
made  the  Roman  legal  system  the  basis  on 
which  the  stability  of  society  has  ever  since 
1  Prof.  P.  Gardner,  The  Growth  of  Christianity,  p.  163. 


SUCCESSORS  OF  PLATO          75 

been  built."  To  the  Stoics,  the  thought  was 
already  familiar  of  a  law  of  nature  by  which 
all  rational  beings  were  bound,  because  it  was 
the  expression  of  the  all-pervading  reason 
which  was  God.  They  found  in  the  Roman 
Law  a  material  worthy  of  the  attempt  to 
mould  it  after  this  divine  pattern,  and  the 
development  of  that  law  owed  much  to  jurists 
who  drew  their  inspiration  thence. 

The  only  writers  of  the  Stoic  school  whose 
writings  have  descended  to  us  in  other  than 
a  fragmentary  state  are  representative  of  the 
later  or  Roman  Stoicism.  These  are  Seneca, 
Epictetus,  and  Marcus  Aurelius.  The  first 
and  third  of  these  were  in  close  touch  with 
public  affairs;  for  Seneca  (b.  A.D.  3,  d.  65) 
during  the  earlier  years  of  the  reign  of  his 
pupil,  Nero,  was  one  of  his  chief  advisers, 
while  Marcus  Aurelius  actually  occupied  for 
twenty  years  (A.D.  161-180)  the  imperial 
throne.  Epictetus,  on  the  other  hand,  whose 
life  spans  the  interval  between  those  of  the 
other  two,  was  a  slave.  Marcus  Aurelius 
himself  counts  his  introduction  to  the  writ- 
ings of  Epictetus  among  the  things  in  his  life 
for  which  he  had  most  cause  to  be  grateful ; 
and  from  these  two  men,  in  outward  circum- 
stances so  unlike,  but  spiritually  very  near 
akin,  a  multitude  of  thoughtful  men  in  later 
generations  have  drawn  strength  and  consola- 
tion in  facing  the  battle  of  life.  Both  slave 


76     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

and  monarch  were  beyond  doubt  of  that 
"  small  transfigured  band  "  of  which  Matthew 
Arnold  l  speaks — 

"  Whose  one  bond  is  that  all  have  been 
Unspotted  by  the  world." 

Neither  the  record  of  his  life,  nor  the  more 
self-conscious,  less  transparently  sincere  tone 
of  his  writings,  enable  us  to  say  as  much  of 
Seneca.  Yet  few  of  the  great  writers  of 
antiquity  have  done  more  than  he  to  mould 
the  moral  sentiment  of  modern  Europe ;  and, 
now  that  he  is  no  longer  so  much  studied  at 
first  hand  as  he  was  in  the  Middle  Ages  and 
in  the  period  which  followed  the  Renaissance, 
it  would  surprise  many  to  discover  how 
powerfully  his  influence,  direct  or  indirect, 
has  affected  European  literature.  To  him 
must  be  traced  the  tradition  of  a  kind  of 
moralizing,  of  which  the  consolations  ad- 
dressed in  Shakespeare's  Measure  for  Measure 
by  the  disguised  Duke  to  Claudio  in  prison 
may  serve  as  an  example.  Here  a  man  is 
reconciled  to  death  by  insistence  on  the  little 
satisfaction  which  can  be  got  out  of  life.  If 
we  wonder  that  neither  the  Duke  nor  Claudio, 
nor  perhaps  their  creator,  seem  to  look  for 
anything  more  from  a  Christian  priest  (for 
as  such  the  Duke  is  disguised),  it  is  to  be 
remembered  that  what  may  be  called  the 

1  Stanzas  in  Memory  of  the  Author  of"  Obermann" 


SUCCESSORS  OF  PLATO  77 

conventional  Christianity  of  educated  men 
owes  more  than  is  always  acknowledged  to  the 
Stoicism  of  Seneca.  To  the  same  source,  we 
owe  the  popular  notion  of  a  philosopher  which 
is  implied  when  we  speak  of  "  bearing  things 
philosophically,"  or  when  Shakespeare  says1 — 

*'  There  was  never  yet  philosopher 
That  could  endure  the  toothache  patiently, 
However  they  have  writ  the  style  of  gods 
And  made  a  push  at  chance  and  sufferance." 

For  the  Stoics,  Seneca  among  them,  did  not 
shrink  from  suggesting  that  only  in  the  longer 
continuance  of  his  wisdom  and  goodness  had 
God  the  advantage  over  a  truly  wise  and 
good  man.  Here,  however  in  other  respects 
the  teaching  of  Stoicism  could  be  confounded 
with  that  of  Christianity,  the  divergence  of 
the  two  religions  (for  Stoicism — at  least  in 
its  later  development — was  a  religion)  might 
seem  to  be  sufficiently  obvious.  Yet  we 
must  bear  in  mind  that  the  Stoic  who  used 
such  language  would  have  admitted  that  of 
wise  and  good  men  in  this  high  sense  there 
had  been  very  few  or  none;  while  the 
Christian,  affirming  that  one  such  there  had 
been,  also  affirmed  that  he  was  God. 

I  have  just  said  that  Stoicism  was,  or 
became,  a  religion,  and  have  brought  it  into 
comparison  and  contrast  with  Christianity. 

1  Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  v.  1.  35. 


78     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

We  have,  in  fact,  reached  a  period  in  the 
history  of  philosophy  in  which  men  came  to 
demand  of  philosophy  that  it  should  provide 
them  with  a  religion,  or,  if  it  could  not  do 
this,  should  stand  aside,  and  let  religion 
provide  them  with  a  philosophy.  To  under- 
stand this  period,  we  must  now  turn  to  the 
consideration  of  the  mutual  relations  of 
Religion  and  Philosophy. 


CHAPTER  IV 

PHILOSOPHY   AND   THE   RISE   OF   CHRISTIANITY 

WHEN  men  have  begun  to  put  to  them- 
selves questions  of  the  kind  in  attempting 
to  answer  which  philosophy  consists,  and  to 
ask  what  is  the  true  nature  of  this  mysterious 
world  in  which  they  find  themselves,  how 
does  it  come  to  be  there,  and  what  is  at  the 
back  of  it  all,  they  have  never  approached 
these  inquiries  with  a  mind  completely  free 
from  prepossessions.  In  a  far  distant  past 
their  fathers  had  begun  dimly  to  feel  the 
presence  of  the  mystery  which  encompassed 
them  on  every  side.  With  a  fearful  sense  of 
its  strangeness  to  them,  its  weirdness  and 
uncanniness,  there  was  mingled  an  anticipa- 
tion of  the  possibility  of  establishing  a 
familiarity  or  of  proving  a  kinship  with  it, 
wherein  might  lie  the  hope  of  a  securer,  freer, 


THE  RISE  OF  CHRISTIANITY     79 

more  powerful  existence  for  themselves  than 
was  possible  under  other  conditions.  During 
a  long  course  of  ages,  such  fear  of  the  mystery 
and  desire  of  coming  to  terms  with  it,  in 
combination  with  the  more  disinterested 
emotions  of  awe  and  curiosity,  had  every- 
where given  rise  to  some  complicated  systems 
of  forbearances  and  actions,  of  ceremonies 
and  stories,  expression  of  the  habitual  atti- 
tude of  a  people  towards  the  powers  that 
surround  them  and  whose  ways  are  not  as 
theirs — in  a  word,  to  a  religion. 

Thus  the  philosopher,  when  he  begins  to 
philosophize,  is  already  accustomed  to  a 
certain  way  of  approaching  the  riddle  which 
he  desires  to  solve,  by  which  he  cannot  fail 
to  be  affected,  whether  or  no  he  be  himself 
inclined  to  take  it  for  a  clue  in  his  own  in- 
vestigations. But  it  belongs  to  the  very 
essence  of  philosophy  that  it  should  not  so 
take  anything  for  granted  as  to  refuse  to  test 
and  examine  it  before  admitting  it  as  true. 
And  so  neither  the  initiators  of  a  new  philo- 
sophical movement,  nor  an  individual  who 
is  beginning  philosophical  studies  for  himself 
can  avoid  in  the  first  instance  taking  up  an 
attitude  of  independence  towards  religious 
tradition,  which,  if  the  representatives  of  that 
tradition  do  not  tolerate  it,  may  easily  pass 
into  hostility.  The  opposition  between  philo- 
sophy and  religion,  which  we  so  frequently 


80      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

observe,  is  thus  both  natural  and  inevitable. 
It  arises  from  the  fact  that  they  are  both 
concerned  with  the  same  object.  It  does 
not,  however,  follow  that  philosophy  must 
eventually  take  the  place  of  religion  as  a 
better  way  of  doing  what  religion  has  tried 
to  do  in  an  inferior  manner.  This  might  be 
so  if  the  theories  of  the  origin  and  course  of 
nature  which  often  form  part  of  a  religious 
tradition  constituted  the  whole  or  the  most 
important  part  of  religion.  But  this  is  not 
so.  Rather  it  would  seem  that  men  do  not 
cease  to  find  in  the  universe  that  which  evokes 
and  "  in  divers  portions  and  divers  manners  " 
satisfies  their  instinct  of  reverence,  their 
impulse  to  worship.  This  experience  can 
only  find  expression  in  some  sort  of  religion. 
But,  just  because  a  religion  is  a  response  to 
what  is  felt  to  be  the  innermost  heart  of  reality 
as  a  whole,  the  whole  nature  of  man  neces- 
sarily claims  to  take  part  in  it.  Hence  a 
religion,  when  once  the  level  of  spiritual 
development  is  reached  at  which  philosophy 
can  come  into  existence,  can  no  more  ignore 
or  evade  the  criticism  of  philosophy,  without 
abdicating  its  claim  to  express  the  response  of 
the  whole  man  to  the  divine,  than  philosophy 
in  its  turn  can  without  self -mutilation  ignore 
the  testimony  of  religious  experience  to  the 
nature  of  that  ultimate  reality  which  it  seeks 
to  apprehend  as  it  truly  is. 


THE  RISE  OF  CHRISTIANITY     81 

Now  Greek  philosophy  in  its  earlier  stages 
exhibits,  on  the  whole,  a  remarkable  inde- 
pendence of  religious  tradition.  Nor,  during 
the  century  which  elapsed  from  the  time  of 
Thales  to  that  of  Anaxagoras,  do  we  hear 
much  of  opposition  to  philosophy  on  the 
part  of  the  representatives  of  religion.  This 
may  be  accounted  for  by  several  considera- 
tions. There  was  no  powerful  priesthood, 
whose  interest  lay  in  maintaining  existing 
opinions  unchanged.  There  was  no  sacred 
book,  generally  accepted  as  containing  doc- 
trine necessary  for  salvation,  with  the  state- 
ments of  which  the  teachings  of  the  philo- 
sophers could  come  into  conflict.  The  very 
remoteness  of  the  philosophers'  speculations 
from  the  popular  stories  about  the  gods,  and 
their  indifference  to  the  popular  ritual  which 
they  probably  had  no  desire  to  mend  or  end, 
would  also  tell  against  an  outbreak  of  religious 
persecution.  From  the  middle  of  the  fifth 
to  the  middle  of  the  fourth  century  B.C.,  a 
single  Greek  commonwealth,  the  democracy  of 
Athens,  was  responsible  for  three  celebrated 
acts  of  intolerance :  the  banishment  of  Anaxa- 
goras for  blaspheming  the  sun  and  moon, 
the  execution  of  Socrates,  and  the  indictment 
of  Aristotle  for  impiety,  which  caused  the 
philosopher  to  remove  from  Athens  "  lest,"  as 
he  is  reported  to  have  said,  "  she  should  sin 
again  against  philosophy."  But  in  all  these 


82      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

cases  it  is  certain  that  there  were  at  work 
other  causes  of  animosity  than  the  religious; 
and  that  personages  disliked  on  political 
grounds  were  struck  at  through  philosophers 
known  to  belong  to  their  circle.  Nor  did  these 
outbreaks  of  hostility  to  freedom  of  thought 
succeed  in  impairing  the  independence  of 
philosophy. 

We  have  already  seen  that,  in  the  original 
Pythagoreanism,  a  scientific  and  philosophi- 
cal movement  was  combined  with  a  religious 
revival — and  a  revival,  it  would  seem,  not 
only  of  zeal  in  the  worship  of  the  divine 
powers,  but  along  with  this,  of  some  very 
old  notions  and  practices  which  we  might 
think  more  at  home  among  savages  than 
among  cultivated  Greeks.  These  the  later 
Pythagoreans  dropped,  or  explained  away 
as  merely  figurative  or  symbolical.  But 
the  religious  strain  was  never  lost  in  the 
Pythagorean  school.  We  see  this  in  the 
interest  taken  by  it  in  the  destiny  of  indi- 
vidual souls;  an  interest  which  it  shared 
with,  and  probably  derived  from,  the  religious 
societies  which  regarded  the  writings  ascribed 
to  Orpheus  as  a  divine  revelation.  It  was 
the  recognition  of  a  religious  need  of  the 
individual — however  superstitious  the  rites 
by  which  they  essayed  to  meet  it — that  gave 
these  societies  an  advantage,  in  an  age  in 
which  men  were  coining  to  think  and  feel  for 


THE  RISE  OF  CHRISTIANITY     83 

themselves,  over  the  old  state  religions;  for 
in  those  it  was,  one  may  say,  only  as  a  member 
of  the  State,  or  of  some  community  which 
formed  a  recognized  factor  in  it,  that  any  one 
had  a  right  or  a  duty  to  approach  the  higher 
powers.  In  the  same  way  it  is  to  the  recogni- 
tion of  a  religious  need  of  the  individual  (and 
not  to  curiosity  as  to  the  philosophical  problem 
of  individuality)  that  is  due  the  Pythagorean 
interest  in  individual  souls,  which  expressed 
itself  in  the  doctrine  of  their  transmigra- 
tion from  body  to  body,  and  in  which  the 
Pythagoreans  stand  in  marked  contrast  with 
the  Ionian  philosophers,  to  whose  view  of  the 
world,  based  as  it  was  on  a  purely  scientific 
study  of  nature,  the  thought  of  a  privilege 
exempting  the  souls  of  men  from  the  universal 
law  of  change  and  decay  was  quite  uncongenial. 
The  existence  of  Orphicism  and  of  Pytha- 
goreanism  are  sufficient  evidence  that  anxiety 
about  the  salvation  of  one's  soul  was  not 
unknown  among  the  Greeks,  or  even  among 
Greek  philosophers,  of  what  we  are  accustomed 
to  call  the  classical  period.  But  it  becomes  a 
far  more  prominent  feature  in  the  period 
which  extends  from  the  death  of  Aristotle 
and  the  conquests  of  his  pupil  Alexander  in 
the  fourth  century  before  Christ  to  the  estab- 
lishment of  Christianity  as  the  religion  of  the 
Roman  empire  in  the  fourth  century  after 
Christ.  This  period  is  often  called  Hellenistic, 


84      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

because  in  it  we  have  to  do  less  with  men  born 
Hellenes  or  Greeks  than  with  men  of  other 
nations  and  races  who  are  Hellenizing  or  play- 
ing the  Greek;  reading  Greek,  talking  Greek, 
writing  Greek,  practising  Greek  customs,  and 
following  up  the  suggestions  of  Greek  thinkers. 
Such  men  would  bring  with  them  to  the  work  of 
carrying  on  the  tradition  of  Greek  civilization 
a  temper  far  removed  from  the  spirit  which 
had,  on  the  whole,  characterized  the  older 
Greek  philosophy ;  from  its  common  sense  and 
self-reliance,  its  scientific  curiosity,  and  what 
in  the  phraseology  of  modern  critics  we  may 
call  its  realism.  After  all,  it  is  only  to  a 
minority  that  anywhere,  even  in  ancient 
Greece,  philosophy  in  what  we  are  now  apt 
to  consider  to  be  its  proper  sense,  philosophy, 
that  is,  intent  merely  on  understanding  what 
things  are,  can  be  expected  to  appeal.  With 
a  wider  public  came  inevitably  a  demand  for 
something  more  than  this  could  offer;  for 
some  more  practical  response  to  those — 

"  fifty  hopes  and  fears 
As  old  and  new  at  once  as  human  life," 

of  which  Browning  x  speaks  as  wont — 
"  just  when  we  are  safest  " 

in  our  own  judgment  from   all  such  anxie- 
ties— morbid  anxieties,  as   they   often   seem 
1  "  Bishop  Bfougram's  Apology" 


THE  RISE  OF  CHRISTIANITY     85 

in  the  eyes  of  those  who  are  exempt  from 
them — 

"  To  rap  and  knock  and  enter  in  our  soul." 

The  age  of  which  we  are  speaking  had 
detached  men  from  their  old  moorings  in 
small  communities,  where  the  performance  of 
accustomed  duties  left  little  room  for  the 
question  "  What  must  I  do  to  be  saved  ?  " 
It  had  launched  them  on  the  ocean  of  a  world 
ringing  with  contending  voices,  none  of  which 
spoke  with  an  authority  that  inspired  un- 
questioning confidence.  If,  from  one  point 
of  view,  it  was  an  age  marked  (as  an  eminent 
scholar x  has  lately  put  it)  by  "  failure  of 
nerve,"  this  was  the  other  side  of  a  new 
sensitiveness  to  the  war  of  good  and  evil  in 
the  world,  which,  as  the  greatest  of  the  Greek 
philosophers,  Plato,  had  shown,  is  as  it  were 
focused  in  the  human  soul,  of  a  keener  con- 
sciousness of  the  individual  personality,  which 
comes  to  itself  only  in  and  through  the  struggle 
to  maintain  itself  against  disruption  hi  this 
intestine  conflict.  In  such  an  age,  we  shall 
not  be  surprised  to  find  a  new  emphasis  be- 
ginning to  be  laid  on  the  hitherto  far  less 
prominent  question  of  the  freedom  of  the 
individual  human  will.  The  Epicureans  and 
the  Stoics  espoused  opposite  sides  on  this 

1  Prof.  J.  B.  Bury,  quoted  in  Prof.  Gilbert  Murray's 
Four  Stages  of  Greek  Religion,  p,  8, 


86     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

question,  the  Epicureans  maintaining  that 
the  will  was  free,  the  Stoics  that  it  was  deter- 
mined. This  may  at  first  excite  surprise ;  for 
we  are  nowadays  inclined  to  connect  the 
cause  of  religion  with  that  of  the  freedom  of 
the  will;  and  the  Stoics  were  the  champions 
of  religion  against  the  Epicureans.  But  we 
must  recollect,  on  the  one  hand,  that  with 
the  Stoics  the  immutable  order  of  nature 
which  is  often  supposed  to  exclude  the  freedom 
of  the  will  was  identified  with  divine  provi- 
dence; and  also  that  it  is  by  no  means  the 
fact  that  the  most  deeply  religious  minds 
are  those  which  dwell  most  readily  on  the 
thought  of  their  own  freedom  to  work  out 
their  own  salvation.  More  often  they  are 
filled  with  a  strong  sense  of  their  own  indi- 
vidual helplessness  and  disposed  to  ascribe 
all  the  good  that  they  do  to  the  grace  of  God 
that  is  with  them. 

The  central  question  in  the  philosophies  of 
this  period  is  that  of  the  end  at  which  a  man 
should  aim.  Aristotle  had,  it  is  true,  already 
stated  in  this  form  the  problem  of  ethics; 
but  ethics  were  with  him  rather  an  outlying 
province  of  philosophy  than,  as  with  the 
Stoics  and  Epicureans,  its  very  heart.  We 
cannot  wonder  that,  side  by  side  with  these 
two  great  schools,  each  of  which  offered  what 
seemed  to  be  a  definite  answer  to  this  question, 
is  found  a  strong  tendency  to  what  is  called 


THE  RISE  OF  CHRISTIANITY     87 

Scepticism,  the  doubt  whether  a  solution  of 
this  or  any  other  ultimate  problem  is  within 
our  reach.  Of  this  tendency  Plato's  college, 
the  Academy,  became  the  especial  home. 
That  the  Stoics,  rather  than  either  the  Epi- 
cureans or  the  Sceptics,  exercised  in  the 
long  run  the  widest  influence  in  an  age  which 
was  seeking  for  a  religious  faith,  is  to  be 
explained  by  their  attitude  of  devout  acquies- 
cence in  the  predestined  or  providential  order 
of  the  universe.  This  religious  strain  in 
Stoicism  is  conspicuous  throughout  its  history. 
We  find  it  in  the  hymn  of  Cleanthes,  the  con- 
verted pugilist  who  succeeded  the  founder  at 
the  head  of  the  school :  "  Lead  me,  O  Zeus 
and  thou,  O  Destiny,  whithersoever  I  am 
appointed  by  you  to  go.  Grant  that  I  may 
follow  without  shrinking;  but  though  in  my 
wickedness  it  should  not  be  with  my  own 
good  will,  yet  I  must  follow  none  the  less." 
And  we  find  it  no  less,  four  centuries  later,  in 
the  concluding  words  of  Marcus  Aurelius' 
Meditations :  "It  is  he  who  decreed  thy 
fashioning  that  now  decrees  thy  dissolution; 
thou  art  accountable  neither  for  the  one  nor 
for  the  other;  therefore  depart  in  peace,  as 
he  that  bids  thee  depart  is  at  peace  with 
thee."  But  it  is  in  the  later  Stoics,  and  more 
particularly  in  Seneca,  that  a  prof  ounder  sense 
of  human  infirmity  is  observed  to  temper  the 
severity  characteristic  of  the  school  with  ft 


88      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

milder  and  more  philanthropic  spirit,  and  to 
give  rise  to  a  resemblance  between  his  writings 
and  those  of  his  contemporary  the  Apostle 
Paul,  with  whom  a  legend,  at  least  as  old  as 
the  fourth  century  after  Christ,  represented 
him  as  having  been  on  terms  of  friendship  and 
correspondence.  The  existence  of  this  legend 
helped,  indeed,  to  win  for  Seneca  an  authori- 
tative place  among  the  teachers  of  a  later 
time,  when  the  faith  of  Paul  had  become  the 
accepted  religion  of  Europe. 

In  a  history  of  philosophy  it  is  not  necessary 
to  dwell  upon  the  process  by  which,  in  an  age 
characterized,  as  we  have  seen,  by  the  general 
quest  of  a  religion  more  satisfactory  intellec- 
tually, morally,  and  emotionally  than  any  of 
those  hitherto  acknowledged  by  the  inheritors 
of  the  Greek  civilization,  a  period  of  struggle 
among  numerous  competitors  ended  in  the 
victory  of  Christianity.  But  so  great  has 
been  the  influence  of  Christianity  upon  the 
later  history  of  European  thought,  that  some- 
thing must  be  said  of  the  relation  between  the 
doctrines  of  this  religion  and  those  of  the 
philosophical  schools  which  were  flourishing 
when  it  first  appeared,  as  well  as  of  any 
contribution  which  it  may  be  thought  to  have 
made  to  the  stock  of  problems  requiring 
philosophical  discussion,  or  of  conceptions 
capable  of  use  in  philosophical  inquiry. 

\The  Jewish  nation,  in  the  midst  of  which 


THE  RISE  OF  CHRISTIANITY     89 

Christianity  arose,  had  come  under  the 
guidance  of  its  prophets  to  see  in  their  own 
god  the  one  only  God,  beside  whom  was  no 
other,  and  in  the  whole  frame  of  nature  the 
work  of  his  hands,  which  he  had  wrought  in 
wisdom  and  righteousness.  The  Greeks,  under 
the  guidance  of  philosophers  like  Plato  and 
the  Stoics,  had  also  come  to  recognize  the 
unity  of  the  divine  nature,  and  to  trace  in  the 
order  of  the  world  a  divine  wisdom  and 
justice.  But  the  Greek  philosophers,  in  thus 
eliminating  from  their  own  theology  the 
unworthy  and  superstitious  elements  of  popu- 
lar religion,  had  been  at  little  pains  to  purify 
the  popular  religion  itself.  Before  the  days 
of  the  Stoics,  they  had  usually  left  it  on  one 
side  with  contemptuous  tolerance;  and  even 
the  Stoics  did  not  endeavour  so  much  to 
reform  it  as  to  find  even  in  its  most  repulsive 
features  a  harmless  symbolism.  The  occa- 
sional use  of  the  name  Zeus  for  the  divinity  is 
almost  the  only  obvious  link  between  Greek 
philosophical  theology  and  the  religious  tradi- 
tions of  the  nation.  Even  the  veneration 
of  the  heavenly  bodies  commended  itself  to 
Plato  and  Aristotle  rather  as  being  part  of 
the  religion  of  all  nations  than  as  belonging 
specially  to  that  of  their  own.  The  Jewish 
prophets,  on  the  other  hand,  had — partly, 
no  doubt,  because  they  were  prophets,  and 
not  philosophers — been  deeply  concerned  to 


90     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

connect  their  theology  with  the  religion  of  their 
fellow  countrymen.  Their  one  God  of  all  the 
earth  is  still  the  God  of  Israel ;  the  traditional 
worship  of  Israel  is  to  become,  as  far  as  may 
be,  worthy  of  his  perfect  righteousness. 

Christianity  here  was  true  to  the  principles 
of  the  prophets.  Jesus  himself  "  came  not  to 
destroy,  but  to  fulfil " ;  and  Paul,  though  he 
broke  with  the  Jewish  community  and  its  law, 
had  no  thought  of  connecting  what  was  now 
plainly  a  new  religion  with  any  other  but  that 
which  had  been  his  own.  The  Christians, 
whether  Jews  or  Gentiles,  were  to  succeed  to 
the  privileges  of  the  old  Israel,  and  to  offer  to 
the  God  who  was  now  ready  to  admit  all  men 
to  covenant  with  himself  a  worship  in  spirit, 
though  not  in  form,  the  same  as  Israel  had 
offered  to  him  when  Israel  alone  of  all  peoples 
had  possessed  a  genuine  knowledge  of  his  will. 
Christianity  thus  combined  a  conception  of 
God  comparable  in  elevation  to  that  reached 
by  the  Greek  philosophers  with  the  offer  of  a 
fellowship,  not  merely  in  a  philosophical  school, 
but  in  a  religious  body  of  initiated  brethren. 
Such  bodies  were  at  that  time  well  known  in 
connexion  with  all  manner  of  worships,  Egyp- 
tian, Syrian,  and  Persian,  which  were  com- 
peting for  the  allegiance  of  seekers  after  a 
closer  intercourse  with  God  than  the  old 
established  state  religions  pretended  to  give. 

Even   independently   of,    though   contem- 


THE  RISE  OF  CHRISTIANITY      91 

poraneously  with,  the  rise  of  Christianity,  such 
Jewish  writers  as  the  Alexandrian  Philo  and 
the  author  '  of  the  Wisdom  of  Solomon  had 
sought  in  the  philosophies  of  Plato  and  of  the 
Stoics  a  confirmation  of  their  religious  con- 
victions, or  even  a  key  to  the  inner  meaning  of 
their  sacred  books.  And  it  was  with  these 
same  philosophies  that  Christianity  showed 
itself  most  sympathetic.  It  was,  indeed,  ready 
to  take  its  stand  with  philosophy  in  general 
against  the  current  superstitions  most  offen- 
sive to  a  philosophic  mind.  Astrology  and 
divination  (whicji  many  even  of  the  philoso- 
phers were  prepared^to  defend)  found  no  place 
in  its  system.  Its  worship  was  free  from 
animal  sacrifice,  with  its  repulsive  accompani- 
ments, and  from  any  traces  of  that  obscenity 
which  haunted  at  least  the  outskirts  of  so 
many  other  religions,  and  also,  in  the  days  of 
its  primitive  simplicity,  from  many  sensuous 
attractions,  as  of  images,  incense  and  the  like, 
which  were  in  later  ages  adopted  by  the  Church. 
These  characteristics  did  not,  indeed,  dis- 
tinguish Christian  worship  from  that  of  the 
Jewish  synagogues ;  but  the  new  religion  had 
laid  aside  the  national  prejudices  of  Judaism 
and  its  respect  for  the  punctilious  observance 
in  daily  life  of  a  host  of  minute  traditional 
regulations. 

The  Christian  and  the  Stoic  were  at  one,  as 
against    the    Epicurean,    in    their    exacting 


92      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

standards  of  conduct,  and  in  their  faith  in  the 
divine  government  of  the  world.  Moreover, 
while  the  Epicureans  saw  in  the  course  of 
nature  an  eternal  play  of  atoms,  without  any 
predestined  plot,  the  Stoics  and  the  Christians 
alike  looked  forward  to  a  conflagration  in 
which  the  present  frame  of  things  would 
perish.  But  this  conflagration  was  by  the 
Stoics  inferred  from  a  particular  physical 
theory;  by  the  Christians  it  was  expected 
as  the  predicted  accompaniment  of  a  great 
assize,  in  which  a  moral  judgment  was  to  be 
passed  on  the  deeds  of  all  men,  and  a  new  order 
introduced  in  which  the  good  should  be  for 
ever  happy,  the  wicked  for  ever  miserable. 
For  Christian  beliefs  about  the  destiny  of  the 
external  world  did  not  originate,  like  those 
of  the  Greek  philosophers,  in  speculations 
prompted  by  scientific  curiosity;  they  were 
accepted  on  authority,  and  justified  as  suitable 
to  the  character  of  a  righteous  ruler  of  the  uni- 
verse. Thus  ethics  were  even  more  central 
in  the  view  of  the  world  taken  by  the  early 
Christians  than  in  the  philosophy  of  the  Stoics. 
But  the  ethics  of  Christianity,  however  like 
to  those  of  Stoicism  so  far  as  concerns  the  kind 
of  conduct  approved  by  both,  differed  from 
them  in  this,  that  it  was  not  in  his  own  strength 
that  the  Christian  aimed  at  fulfilling  the  moral 
law ;  it  was  by  the  grace  of  Another.  Like  the 
Jew  and  the  Stoic,  he  counted  himself  a  child 


THE  RISE  OF  CHRISTIANITY      93 

of  God ;  not,  however,  in  right  of  his  nation  like 
the  Jew,  nor  in  his  own  right  like  the  Stoic, 
but  in  right  of  his  adoption  into  the  society  of 
one  who  was  God's  son  by  nature.  Here  the 
consciousness  of  human  infirmity,  which  at 
this  period  was  vividly  present  even  in  a 
representative  Stoic  like  Seneca,  was  met  by 
the  belief  in  the  mediation  of  a  divine  Saviour. 
It  was  not,  indeed,  only  among  the  Christians 
that  we  find  at  the  time  a  belief  of  this  kind. 
But  nowhere  else  was  the  Saviour  presented  as 
**  come  in  the  flesh  "  a  few  years  since  in  the 
person  of  one  who,  although  living  in  obscure 
and  humble  circumstances  (but  no  humbler 
than  those  of  Epictetus),  and  dying  (by  an 
unjust  sentence,  like  Socrates)  a  criminal's 
death,  had  so  lived,  taught,  and  died,  that 
even  men  whose  ideal  was  found  in  such  sages 
as  I  have  just  mentioned  could,  with  the 
martyr  Justin,  who  himself  had  passed  to 
Christianity  from  the  philosophical  schools, 
recognize  in  him  the  supreme  revelation  of  the 
divine  Reason  which  had  dwelt  also  in  them. 

It  was  this  principle  of  mediation  which 
formed  a  link  between  Christianity  and 
Platonism.  In  one  of  the  most  difficult  but 
most  influential  of  his  writings,  the  Timceus, 
Plato  had  spoken  of  the  world  of  eternal 
natures  or  Ideas  as  the  model  or  pattern 
according  to  the  likeness  of  which  the  visible 
world  was  created  by  God.  In  an  age  like 


94      A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

that  in  which  Christianity  arose,  haunted  as  it 
was  by  a  sense  of  falling  immeasurably  short 
of  a  perfection  after  which  it  was  at  the  same 
time  passionately  yearning,  these  expressions 
of  Plato  were  taken  as  affording  the  highest 
philosophical  sanction  to  the  thought  that 
there  might  be  found  some  mediating  power  to 
bridge  the  gulf  which  was  felt  to  yawn  between 
God  and  man.  The  eternal  pattern  of  the 
created  world  could  be  identified  with  that 
Word  or  Angel  of  Jahweh  (Jehovah)  of  which 
the  later  Jewish  piety  had — in  its  reverent 
shrinking  from  the  application  of  anthropo- 
morphic language  to  the  supreme  object  of 
its  worship — come  to  speak,  rather  than  of 
Jahweh  himself,  when  describing  his  com- 
munings  with  prophets  and  holy  men  of  old, 
and  which  the  Christians  held  to  have  become 
incarnate  in  Jesus. 

In  a  celebrated  passage  of  his  Confessions1 
the  great  Christian  writer  Augustine,  of  whom 
we  shall  have  to  speak  again,  tells  us 
that  he  had  learned  from  the  Platonists  the 
same  doctrine  as  was  taught  also  in  the 
opening  verses  of  the  Fourth  Gospel  about 
the  eternal  Word  of  God,  himself  God,  the 
immediate  agent  in  the  creation  of  the  world, 
the  light  and  life  of  men ;  but  not  the  doctrine 
of  the  following  passage  that  this  "  Word  was 
made  flesh  and  dwelt  among  us."  This  obser- 
1  Book  vii.  c,  9. 


THE   RISE  OF  CHRISTIANITY     95 

vation  illustrates  the  fact  that,  while  the 
Platonism  of  his  day  (which  we  now  call 
Neoplatonism,  and  of  which  we  shall  speak 
again)  agreed  with  Christianity  in  teaching  a 
doctrine  of  mediation,  the  two  systems 
differed  in  that  by  this  mediation  the  later 
Platonism  aimed  in  the  main  at  keeping  a 
distance  between  the  material  world  (to  which 
our  "  flesh  "  belongs)  and  the  divine  goodness, 
Christianity  rather  at  bringing  the  divine 
goodness  down  into  the  very  midst  of  that 
world.  This  was  held  to  have  been  accom- 
plished in  the  incarnation  of  the  Word  in  the 
person  of  Jesus,  who,  according  to  the  view 
which  finally  prevailed,  was  at  once  truly 
God  and  truly  man,  with  a  real  human  body 
and  soul.  Such  a  view  was  found  to  be 
capable,  as  others  were  not,  of  satisfying  the 
requirements  of  the  Christian's  consciousness 
that,  in  virtue  of  union  with  Jesus  through 
solemn  incorporation  in  the  society  which 
lived  by  the  power  of  his  Spirit,  he  was  actually 
reconciled  to  God.  A  supernatural  being  with 
a  phantasmal  body  which  could  only  seem  to 
suffer  and  to  die,  or  even  with  a  real  body  but 
with  no  human  feelings  or  affections,  or  again 
a  being,  whether  man  or  more  than  man,  who 
was  not  in  a  genuine  sense  one  with  the 
supreme  God,  would  not  have  served  his  turn. 
Hence  the  rejection  as  "  heresies  "  of  proposals 
to  describe  the  nature  of  Jesus  in  any  such 


96     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

terms.  Moreover,  the  same  considerations  as 
made  Christians  shrink  from  anything  which 
might  weaken  the  connexion  between  the 
mediator  and  either  of  the  two  parties,  God 
and  man,  which  in  him  were  to  come  together, 
excluded  also  the  possibility  of  recognizing 
more  mediators  than  one. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  we  turn  to  the  con- 
temporary systems  of  partially  christianized 
theosophy  or  religious  speculation — which  are 
usually  grouped  under  the  common  name  of 
Gnosticism,  because  their  adherents  claimed 
for  an  inner  ring  of  initiates  the  exclusive 
possession  of  a  secret  gnosis,  that  is,  knowledge 
or  wisdom — we  find  them  indulging  a  mytho- 
logical fancy  in  the  invention  of  long  chains 
of  mediators  between  God  and  man.  So,  also, 
did  the  latest  representatives  of  a  Platonism 
that  refused  to  come  to  terms  with  Christianity. 
These  were  actuated  at  once  by  the  philo- 
sopher's desire  to  discover  the  structure  of 
reality  by  distinguishing  the  different  kinds  of 
being,  by  the  religious  desire  to  remove  the 
divine  nature  as  far  as  might  be  from  contact 
with  matter,  and  by  the  controversial  desire 
to  justify  against  Christianity  the  now  dying 
paganism,  in  its  recognition  of  a  host  of  divine 
beings  of  various  grades.  This  tendency  to 
multiply  mediators  reacted  on  Christianity 
itself,  practically  in  the  development  of 
saint-worship,  and  theoretically  in  the  inter- 


THE  RISE  OF  CHRISTIANITY      97 

polation  of  a  hierarchy  of  angels  between  a 
Christian  and  his  Saviour,  similar  to  the  hier- 
archies of  gods  in  the  latest  Platonists,  by 
a  writer  who  took  the  name  of  St.  Paul's 
Athenian  convert,  Dionysius  the  Areopagite. 
In  an  uncritical  age  he  acquired  a  high  author- 
ity as  a  companion  of  the  Apostle.  But  his 
angelic  hierarchies,  though  they  play  an 
important  part  in  the  scheme  of  Dante's 
Paradise,  never  became  prominent  objects  of 
popular  devotion;  while  the  saints,  who  did, 
yet  have  never  been  openly  held  to  intercept 
the  direct  access  of  the  individual  Christian  to 
the  one  true  Mediator  Jesus  Christ,  or  to 
possess  the  divine  nature  which,  according  to 
the  Christian  creed,  is  in  him  alone  personally 
united  with  the  human. 

From  the  relation  of  Christianity  to  the 
philosophical  schools  of  older  origin,  we  may 
now  turn  to  the  contribution  which  it  made 
to  the  stock  of  problems  demanding  philo- 
sophical discussion,  and  of  conceptions  capable 
of  use  in  philosophical  inquiry. 

The  philosophical  problem  which,  in  conse- 
quence of  a  deepening  of  the  sense  of  individual 
personality  through  the  religious  experience 
gained  under  the  influence  of  Christianity, 
assumes  a  new  importance  is  that  of  person- 
ality in  God  and  in  man.  The  principal 
conceptions  framed  in  the  course  of  the  effort 
to  give  expression  to  this  religious  experience, 


98     A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

which  have  proved  themselves  of  use  also  to 
philosophers,  are  those  of  a  triune  God  and  of 
divine  grace. 

In  deepening  the  sense  of  individual  person- 
ality, Christianity  did  but  carry  forward  a 
process  which  we  have  already  seen  to  be 
characteristic  of  the  age  in  which  it  arose. 
But  Christianity  was  especially  qualified  to 
carry  it  forward  because  the  religious  ex- 
perience of  the  Christian  was  pre-eminently 
an  experience  of  personal  intercourse  with  a 
personal  God.  For,  in  the  first  place,  he 
inherited  the  Jewish  faith  that  God  was  one, 
not  merely  in  the  sense  that  all  the  various 
powers  and  influences  which  seem  to  be 
active  in  nature  are  somehow  manifestations 
of  a  single  energy  or  life,  but  rather  in  the 
sense  in  which  we  recognize  in  the  various 
acts  of  a  human  being  the  unity  of  a  moral 
character.  In  the  second  place,  he  was  not 
left  to  mere  speculation  in  framing  for  himself 
a  definite  conception  of  the  divine  character; 
he  was  referred  for  this  purpose  to  the  histori- 
cal character  of  Jesus  as  represented  in  the 
traditional  records  of  his  life  and  teaching. 
In  the  third  place,  according  to  that  teaching 
as  so  recorded,  it  was  in  the  personal  service 
of  other  men,  especially  of  the  members  of 
the  Christian  brotherhood,  that  personal 
intercourse  with  Jesus  was  to  be  realized : 
*'  Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  unto  one  of  these  my 


THE  RISE  OF  CHRISTIANITY     99 

brethren,  even  these  least,  ye  did  it  unto  me  " 
(Matt.  xxv.  40). 

As  soon  as  intellectual  curiosity  is  aroused 
in  regard  to  this  kind  of  religious  experience, 
it  must  inevitably  fasten  upon  the  question : 
What  must  be  the  nature  of  God  and  of  man, 
and  of  the  mediator  between  them,  for  such 
intercourse  to  be  possible? 

Such  questions,  once  stirred,  appealed  to 
other  passions  than  intellectual  curiosity,  and 
the  controversies  which  they  occasioned  can 
scarcely  be  said  to  belong  to  the  history  of 
philosophy;  but  the  results  of  these  con- 
troversies cannot  be  excluded  from  it.  For 
these  results,  embodying,  as  on  the  whole 
they  did,  the  judgment  passed  in  the  long  run 
by  the  common  sense  of  the  Christian  commu- 
nity on  the  various  attempts  to  think  out  the 
problems  involved,  came  to  constitute  a  body 
of  doctrine  which,  during  the  period  in  which 
Christianity  has  been  the  dominant  religion 
of  Europe,  could  not  but  be  present  to  the 
thoughts  of  those  who  were  engaged  in  further 
investigation  of  the  same  questions. 

Although  this  whole  group  of  questions 
concerned  the  mutual  relations  of  God  and 
man,  attention  was  at  first  concentrated  on 
those  which  concerned  primarily  the  divine 
nature,  and  asked :  In  what  sense  and  how  far 
is  the  mediator  (who  is  certainly  man)  to  be 
considered  as  God?  Afterwards  came  the 


100    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

turn  of  those  which,  starting  from  the  other 
side,  inquired :  In  what  sense  and  how  far  can 
a  man,  when  he  does  God's  will  (which  he  can 
certainly  only  do  by  the  help  of  God's  grace), 
claim  any  merit  therein  for  himself? 

The  questions  which  were  thus  raised  among 
Christian  theologians  in  the  third  and  fourth 
centuries  of  our  era  respecting  the  divine 
nature  were  also  being  discussed  at  the  same 
time,  in  independence  of  the  special  doctrines 
of  Christianity,  by  the  philosophers  of  whom 
mention  has  already  been  made  as  being  in 
the  estimation  of  their  contemporaries  Plato- 
nists,  but  whom  modern  critics,  perceiving  a 
considerable  difference  between  their  doctrines 
and  those  of  Plato,  call  Neoplatonists.  To 
them,  as  to  the  Christian  thinkers  of  their 
time,  the  philosophical  questions  suggested  by 
religion  were  of  primary  importance;  while 
those  suggested  by  the  natural  sciences,  which 
turned  away  from  what  was  above  man  to 
what  was  below  him,  from  that  to  which  he 
was  allied  through  his  spiritual  nature  to  that 
to  which  he  was  allied  through  his  body,  were 
practically  negligible.  The  greatest  of  the 
Neoplatonists  was  Plotinus,  who  lived  in  the 
third  century.  In  his  speculations  on  the 
nature  of  the  highest  reality,  in  apprehending 
and  uniting  itself  with  which  (so  far  as  possible) 
the  human  soul  might  expect  to  find  its 
noblest  aspirations  satisfied,  Plotinus  carried 


THE  RISE  OF  CHRISTIANITY    101 

on  the  speculations  of  those  older  Greek 
philosophers  who  had  not,  like  the  Epicureans, 
refused  altogether  to  see  in  the  world  the  mani- 
festation of  a  spiritual  or  divine  principle. 
Such  philosophers  were  the  Stoics,  who  had 
acknowledged  as  present  everywhere  in  the 
world  the  operation  of  a  divine  providence. 
Such  was  Aristotle,  who  had  explained  the 
motion  of  the  universe  by  its  attraction  towards 
a  supreme  Intelligence  which,  in  the  activity 
of  contemplating  its  own  most  excellent  nature, 
enjoyed  an  eternal  and  self -sufficing  life  of  bliss. 
Such,  above  all,  was  Plato,  who,  in  the  very 
fact  that  the  eternal  natures  of  things  could 
be  apprehended  by  our  intelligence,  recognized 
the  presence  of  a  principle  of  order  to  which 
it  was  due  that  these  natures  were  what  the 
intelligence  apprehends  them  as  being,  and 
also  that  the  intelligence  apprehends  them  as 
being  what  they  are.  The  same  Plato,  in  a 
passage  of  his  Timceus  to  which  reference  has 
already  been  made,  had  spoken  not  only  of  this 
supreme  principle,  but  of  the  world  of  Ideas  or 
eternal  natures,  as  an  eternal  living  being,  the 
pattern  of  the  world  which  our  senses  perceive ; 
he  had  also  spoken  of  a  soul,  made  in  the  like- 
ness of  this  being ;  as  that  which  gives  unity 
and  motion  to  this  same  sensible  world. 

In  this  triad  or  trinity  of  beings,  all  of  which 
might  be  called  divine,  the  second  corresponds 
to  the  Intelligence  of  which  Aristotle  had 


102    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

spoken  as  though  it  were  the  highest  of  all,  the 
third  to  that  all -pervading  Life  of  the  world 
which  was  the  chief  God  of  the  Stoics.  To  the 
eternal  Intelligence  Plotinus  did  not,  like 
Aristotle,  deny  as  unworthy  of  its  dignity  the 
contemplation  of  natures  other  than  its  own; 
or  rather  its  own  nature  includes  for  Plotinus 
the  natures  of  all  other  things,  which  are 
related  to  it  not  as  objects  external  to  it,  but 
as  the  thoughts  the  thinking  of  which  makes 
up  its  own  life.  But  the  spiritual  ambition  of 
Plotinus  was  not  to  be  satisfied  by  sympathy 
with  the  universal  Life,  nor  yet  by  contem- 
plation of  the  eternal  Intelligence.  He  sought, 
and  was  believed  by  his  friends  on  several 
occasions  to  have  attained,  a  union  with  the 
ultimate  principle,  the  highest  God  of  all. 
Now  the  Highest  must,  according  to  him,  be 
above  all  distinction  whatever,  even  that  of  the 
knower  from  the  known,  which  remains  with 
the  most  exalted  Intelligence,  although  in  its 
case  what  knows  and  what  is  known  are  the 
same  being,  making  itself,  as  it  were,  into 
two  in  order  to  have  self-knowledge.  Hence 
union  with  the  Highest  can  be  attained  only 
in  a  state  in  which  all  sense  of  distinction  is 
lost,  a  state  of  ecstasy  or  rapture.  Here 
Plotinus  speaks  a  different  language  from 
Plato.  Plato  had  acknowledged  that,  in  the 
correspondence  of  intelligence  to  reality  which 
takes  place  in  knowledge,  there  was  revealed 


THE  RISE  OF  CHRISTIANITY    103 

an  underlying  principle  of  unity  which  could 
neither  be  called  Intelligence  as  opposed  to 
Reality,  nor  Reality  as  contrasted  with 
Intelligence.  But  there  is  no  proof  that  he 
supposed  this  underlying  principle  to  be 
revealed  except  just  in  this  way.  When  he 
speaks  of  experiences  like  rapture  or  ecstasy, 
he  ranks  them  below  the  experience  of  the 
philosopher,  who  thinks  out  what  in  such 
experiences  is  only,  as  it  were,  seen  in  a  glass 
darkly.  In  giving  to  such  experiences,  in 
which  thought  is  not  active,  a  higher  rank 
than  to  thought,  Plotinus  shows  himself  to 
be  what  Plato  is  often  called,  but,  strictly 
speaking,  is  not,  namely  a  mystic.  Such 
mysticism  is  an  indication  that  we  have  in 
Plotinus  one  who  is  working  out  the  extreme 
consequences  of  that  concentration  of  interest 
on  the  spiritual  life  of  the  individual  which  we 
have  seen  to  be  characteristic  of  the  thought  of 
the  early  centuries  of  our  era.  No  less  social 
ideal  has  ever  been  put  forward  than  that  of 
the  ardent  lover  of  God  who  casts  aside  one 
lesser  good  after  another,  which  he  finds  not 
to  be  the  one  original  and  supreme  goodness, 
until,  unencumbered  by  anything  that  can 
distract  him  from  the  object  of  his  quest,  he 
takes  his  flight,  in  the  words  of  Plotinus 
himself,  "  alone  to  the  Alone."  Yet  it  must 
not  be  forgotten  that  it  is  not  in  the  true 
interest  of  society  that  the  individuality  of  its 


104    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

members  should  not  be  developed  to  the  full ; 
and,  in  the  long  run,  it  reaps  advantage  from 
the  loneliest  of  spiritual  adventures.  Through 
the  religious  passion  for  an  individual  access 
to  God,  which  is  the  driving  force  behind  the 
philosophical  mysticism  of  Plotinus,  the  in- 
dividual learns  to  claim  for  himself  a  unique 
value  and  place  in  the  universe.  That  of 
every  individual  man,  and  not  only  of  the 
human  species,  there  is  a  distinct  eternal 
nature,  "  Form,"  or  "  Idea,"  is  expressly 
taught  by  Plotinus,  as  it  had  not  been  by 
Plato  or  by  Aristotle. 

But  with  Plotinus  only  the  first  member  of 
his  Trinity  is  God  in  the  highest  and  fullest 
sense.  The  second  and  third  are  emanations 
from  the  supreme  Godhead,  through  whose 
intervention  it  can,  without  coming  into  direct 
contact  with  matter,  produce  therein  a 
reflection  of  its  goodness,  namely,  the  order 
and  beauty  of  the  visible  world.  Thus  only 
can  the  soul  capable  of  the  mystic  rapture 
unite  itself  with  the  veritable  God;  and  the 
virtues  of  social  life  are  merely  the  lowest 
rungs  of  the  ladder  by  which  the  heavenward 
ascent  is  made.  The  view  eventually  deve- 
loped by  the  Christian  theologians  is  different. 
In  Jesus  himself,  and  in  the  Spirit  which  is 
active  in  the  common  life  of  the  Christian 
Church,  and  _  so  in  social  fellowship  or  love, 
they  recognized  manifestations  of  eternal  and 


THE   RISE  OF  CHRISTIANITY    105 

necessary  elements  in  the  supreme  Godhead. 
With  such  a  view,  it  becomes  possible,  in  the 
first  place,  to  conceive  the  supreme  Godhead 
not  as  a  bare  unity  without  any  distinctions 
within  it  (such  as  no  real  unity  within  our 
experience  can  well  be  said  to  be),  but  as  a 
unity  of  distinct  elements,  the  distinctness  of 
which  is  as  necessary  to  their  unity  as  their 
unity  to  the  full  realization  of  their  distinct 
characteristics;  in  other  words,  as  a  unity  of 
the  kind  whose  most  obvious  type  is  to  be 
found  in  love.  In  the  second  place,  not  only 
to  the  philosopher  and  the  ecstatic  saint,  but 
to  all  believers  in  Jesus  and  sharers  in  his 
Spirit,  and  so  to  the  humblest  members  of 
the  Christian  community,  is  secured  a  direct 
access  to  the  supreme  Godhead.  Lastly,  in 
the  human  life  of  Jesus  the  supreme  Godhead 
is  regarded  as  in  direct  contact  with  the 
material  world.  This  account  of  the  divine 
nature  may  be,  I  think,  shown  to  be  philo- 
sophically (as  well  as  religiously)  superior  to 
that  given  by  Plotinus.  The  representation 
of  the  supreme  Godhead  as  accessible  to  all 
men,  and  as  in  contact  with  the  material 
world,  harmonizes  with  a  philosophy  which 
allows  to  the  facts  of  history  and  of  nature  a 
significance  in  the  scheme  of  things  which  for 
Plotinus  they  could  scarcely  possess.  Such  a 
philosophy  will  be  more  in  accord  than  that  of 
Plotinus  with  the  spirit  of  Plato,  who  makes 

D  2 


106    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

Parmenides,  in  the  Dialogue  which  bears  his 
name,  tell  the  youthful  Socrates  that  a  reluc- 
tance to  allow  the  existence  of  Ideas  or  eternal 
natures  corresponding  to  things  we  consider 
mean  and  contemptible  is  a  sign  of  philoso- 
phical immaturity. 

The  representation  of  the  supreme  Godhead 
as  itself  a  trinity,  and  not  merely  as  the  highest 
member  of  a  trinity,  has  still  greater  philo- 
sophical importance.  Even  thinkers  of  the 
greatest  genius  both  in  ancient  and  in  modern 
times  have  found  it  hard  to  succeed  in 
describing  the  unity  of  any  group  of  things, 
and  still  more  the  unity  of  the  whole  of 
reality,  without  speaking  of  it  as  though  the 
differences  within  it  were  somehow  unreal  and, 
if  we  saw  things  as  they  were,  would  disappear 
altogether.  Moreover,  in  escaping  this  pitfall, 
philosophers  have  often  fallen  into  one  on  the 
other  side  of  their  path.  They  have  spoken  as 
though  real  things  were  all  utterly  separate  and 
different  from  each  other ;  and  as  though,  when 
we  talk  of  a  class  or  kind,  and  still  more  of  a 
world  or  universe,  the  unity  were  only  in  our 
minds,  and  not  in  the  things  at  all.  Neverthe- 
less we  know  that  we  cannot  speak  of  things  as 
many  without  calling  them  at  the  same  time 
one — they  must  be  many  apples,  or  many  men, 
or  at  the  least,  many  things.  Why  then  call 
the  many  by  one  name,  if  there  be  no  real  unity 
among  them?  Yet  whatever  unity  there  be 


THE  RISE  OF  CHRISTIANITY    107 

among  them  cannot  be  something  over  and 
above  them,  which  can  dispense  with  them; 
it  must  rather  be  constituted  by  them,  many 
as  they  are. 

No  doubt  there  are  groups  in  which  each 
member  of  the  group  might  seem  easily 
dispensed  with.  For  example,  one  grain 
more  or  less  in  a  heap  of  sand  matters  little 
enough ;  but,  just  for  that  reason,  the  unity  of 
the  heap  matters  very  little  too.  Divide  it 
into  two  or  three,  and  what  harm  is  done? 
But  divide  an  organism,  a  plant  or  animal, 
into  two,  and,  unless  it  be  done  with  discretion, 
the  organism  will  die,  will  function  as  a  plant 
or  animal  no  more.  And  the  higher  in  the 
scale  of  organic  life  it  be,  the  less  easy  it  is  to 
divide  it  without  injuring  or  even  killing  it. 
This  is  so  just  because,  the  higher  it  is,  the 
less  possible  it  is  for  one  of  the  parts  to  take 
another's  place.  Some  lowly  animal  organ- 
isms, if  turned  inside  out,  will,  it  is  said,  soon 
adapt  themselves  to  the  new  state  of  things ;  a 
higher  organism  could  not  do  this.  The  more 
thoroughly  differentiated  are  the  parts,  the 
more  intimately  one  is  the  whole.  Moreover, 
if  the  parts  were  to  be  conscious  of  themselves 
and  of  their  unity,  we  should  think  this  a 
higher  type  of  unity  still ;  and,  therefore,  the 
unity  of  a  society  of  human  beings,  though  it 
is  often  precarious  and  unstable,  seems  to  be  a 
higher  kind  of  unity  than  that  of  a  body.  If 


108    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

the  members  of  a  society  were  perfectly  equal 
and  yet  so  individually  different  that  each 
was  indispensable  to  the  others,  and  if  they 
were  bound  together  by  no  constraint  but 
that  of  love  and  of  a  love  which  was  completely 
satisfied  and  reciprocated,  this  society  would 
certainly  seem  to  be  the  very  ideal  of  a  unity 
of  many  members.  Now,  it  has  certainly 
been  a  circumstance  beneficial  to  philosophical 
thought  in  Europe  that  the  received  theology 
has  ascribed  just  such  a  structure  as  this  to 
the  supreme  Being ;  that  it  has  not  set  up  for 
worship  a  Unity  beyond  all  distinctions,  and 
therefore  unknowable,  but  one  to  whose  in- 
most nature  it  belongs  to  reveal  itself  in  the 
very  processes  of  knowledge  and  love  by 
which  the  worshipper  apprehends  it. 

We  now  come  to  those  among  the  problems 
set  by  the  religious  experience  of  Christians 
to  Christian  theologians  which  concern  human 
responsibility.  Here  the  movement  of  theo- 
logical speculation  did  not  result  in  an  authori- 
tative formula;  and,  therefore,  no  such  clear 
statement  of  its  outcome  can  be  made  as  in 
the  case  of  the  doctrine  of  the  nature  of  God. 
What  most  concerns  the  historian  of  philo- 
sophy is  this  :  that  the  universal  order,  which 
the  Christians  agreed  with  the  Stoics  in 
regarding  as  divine,  was  by  Christians  viewed, 
in  its  relation  to  man,  not  so  much  in  the 
character  of  destiny  as  in  that  of  "  grace  "  or 


THE  RISE  OF  CHRISTIANITY    109 

free  favour.  So  long  as  men  followed  the  Stoics 
in  neglecting  the  advantages  which  theories  like 
the  atomism  borrowed  from  Democritus  by  the 
Epicureans  offered  for  a  mechanical  explana- 
tion of  natural  processes,  and  in  looking  upon 
morality  as  of  vastly  more  importance  in  the 
universe  than  the  motions  of  lifeless  bodies,  the 
distinction  between  the  Stoic  "  destiny  "  and 
the  Christian  "  purpose  of  grace  "  was,  perhaps, 
of  slight  philosophical  (though  no  doubt  of 
much  religious)  importance.  But  it  is  other- 
wise when  the  success  which  has  attended 
attempts  at  the  mechanical  explanation  of 
natural  phenomena,  and  the  impression  of 
human  insignificance  produced  by  the  dis- 
covery that  the  earth  is  not  the  centre  of  the 
universe,  have  encouraged  attempts  to  mini- 
mize the  difference  between  voluntary  activity 
and  the  movements  of  inanimate  things,  and 
even,  in  the  interests  of  a  comprehensive 
theory,  to  give  the  lie  to  our  natural  convic- 
tion that  we  act  freely.  To  such  attempts  a 
consciousness  of  spiritual  freedom  trained  in 
the  tradition  of  a  teaching  which  put  "  grace  " 
in  the  place  of  "  destiny  "  offers  a  stronger 
resistance  than  could  have  been  expected 
from  one  trained  under  a  system  which  pre- 
ferred to  use  the  latter  term,  and  tended  to  be 
careless  of  the  distinction  of  the  spiritual  from 
the  material. 

The  question  of  the  respective  parts  to  be 


110    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

assigned  in  men's  good  actions  to  divine  grace 
and  to  their  own  free  will  gave  rise  at  the 
beginning  of  the  fifth  century  after  Christ 
to  a  controversy,  which  has  since  been  many 
times  renewed.  At  that  time,  the  champions 
of  free  will  and  grace  respectively  were  a 
monk  named  Pelagius,  interesting  as  the  first 
person  of  British  blood  to  win  fame  as  writer 
and  thinker,  and  Augustine,  who  died  A.D.  430 
as  bishop  of  Hippo  in  Africa,  than  whom  few 
men  have  exercised  a  profounder  influence 
over  the  intellectual  and  spiritual  develop- 
ment of  Europe.  After  a  youth  of  "  storm 
and  stress,"  of  which  he  has  left  us  an 
account  in  his  Confessions,  he  had  learned 
how  deeply  seated  in  the  human  heart  are  its 
inclinations  to  evil,  and  had  become  pro- 
foundly conscious  of  the  need  of  divine  grace 
to  counteract  them;  and  more  than  once  in 
a  later  age,  when  a  strong  sense  of  sin  and 
of  moral  helplessness  has  fallen  upon  men, 
they  have  given  it  expression  by  a  revival  of 
Augustine's  teaching.  His  keen  analysis  of 
his  own  experience  made  him  a  pioneer — 
especially  through  his  study  of  memory — in 
what  is  now  called  psychology.  In  him  may 
be  said  to  culminate  that  concentration  of 
interest  on  the  individual  soul  which  we  have 
seen  to  be  characteristic  of  the  period  described 
in  this  chapter.  He  was  greatly  attracted 
and  influenced  by  the  mysticism  of  Plotinus, 


MINORITY  OF  MODERN  EUROPE    111 

which,  as  we  saw,  exhibited  this  tendency  in 
an  extreme  form ;  and  his  sympathetic  refer- 
ences to  the  Platonism  of  his  day  helped 
much  in  keeping  alive  some  knowledge  of  the 
Platonic  philosophy  through  the  dark  days  for 
European  civilization  which  were  now  at  hand. 
For  already  the  inundation,  of  which  Bacon 
speaks  in  a  passage  already  quoted,  in  which 
the  learning  of  the  ancient  world  was  to  suffer 
shipwreck,  had  begun.  As  Augustine  lay 
dying,  the  Vandals,  whose  name  has  become 
a  proverb  for  destructive  barbarism,  were 
besieging  his  episcopal  city.  But  he  had 
already  expressed,  in  his  great  work  on  the 
City  of  God,  written  after  the  sack  of  Rome  by 
the  Goths  in  410,  his  conviction  that  not  in 
the  secular  state  of  which  Rome  was  the  centre 
and  symbol,  and  which  seemed  now  to  lie  at 
the  mercy  of  the  invaders  from  the  north,  but 
in  the  Christian  Church,  which  could  boast 
more  truly  than  Rome  of  being  the  "  eternal 
city,"  could  the  human  spirit  find  an  abiding 
home. 

CHAPTER  V 

PHILOSOPHY  DURING  THE  MINORITY  OF  MODERN 
EUROPE 

THE  century  which  followed  the  death  of 
Augustine  saw  Rome  itself  under  the  govern- 
ment of  barbarian  chieftains.  The  greatest 


112    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

of  these,  Theodoric  (who  died  A.D.  526),  al- 
though himself  illiterate,  chose  for  his  minis- 
ters two  men,  among  the  most  cultivated 
that  that  age  could  boast,  Cassiodorus  and 
Boethius.  These  made  it  their  business,  being 
keenly  alive  to  the  dangers  which  at  that  time 
threatened  the  very  tradition  of  the  ancient 
civilization,  to  save  what  they  could  from  the 
"  shipwreck  of  learning  "  for  the  times  that 
should  come  after  them.  In  the  foundation 
by  Cassiodorus,  on  his  retirement  in  A.D.  540 
from  public  life,  of  a  society  of  monks  pro- 
vided with  a  large  collection  of  books,  and 
enjoined  to  spend  a  great  part  of  their  time 
in  the  study  of  them,  we  may  see  the  be- 
ginnings of  the  custom  by  which  institutions 
of  this  kind,  into  which  men  withdrew  from 
the  ordinary  business  of  the  world  to  live  a  life 
more  strictly  in  accord  with  the  principles  of 
Christianity  than  they  thought  possible  else- 
where, became  the  chief  means  by  which 
classical  literature  escaped  destruction. 

The  same  scholar's  tract  on  the  Seven 
Liberal  Arts  was  one  of  two  or  three  works  of 
this  period  which  helped  to  fix  the  curriculum 
that  was  to  dominate  the  ages  we  call  "  Middle 
Ages,"  as  lying  between  those  we  call  without 
hesitation  "  ancient  "  and  those  we  call  with- 
out hesitation  "  modern."  Three  of  these 
arts  were  more  elementary,  and  formed  the 
trivium  (whence  our  word  "  trivial  "j,  namely, 


MINORITY  OF  MODERN  EUROPE    118 

Grammar,  Logic,  and  Rhetoric;  four  (the 
quadrivium)  more  advanced,  Arithmetic,  Geo- 
metry, Astronomy,  and  Music.  It  was  in  these 
"  arts  "  that  the  degree  in  Arts  at  our  old 
universities  was  originally  given. 

To  Cassiodorus'  friend  and  colleague  Boe- 
thius  the  philosophy  of  the  Middle  Ages  owed 
a  more  direct  debt.  Stripped,  after  years  of 
prosperity,  by  an  unjust  charge  of  treason,  of 
all  his  honours,  and  lying  in  a  prison  whence 
he  was  only  to  be  brought  out  to  die,  he  dis- 
tilled, as  it  were,  into  a  little  book  of  medita- 
tions the  teaching  of  Plato  and  the  Stoics 
concerning  the  preferable  state  of  the  just 
sufferer  to  the  prosperous  sinner,  and  the 
duty  of  faith,  amid  all  appearances  to  the 
contrary,  in  the  perfection  of  the  eternal 
and  providential  order  of  the  universe.  This 
Consolation  of  Philosophy,  which  he  represents 
as  administered  to  him  by  Philosophy  in 
person,  came,  despite  the  absence  from  it  of 
any  reference  to  Christian  beliefs — though  it 
is  probable  that  Boethius,  while  not,  as  the 
legend  said,  a  Christian  martyr,  was  nominally 
a  Christian — to  be  regarded  in  the  Middle 
Ages  almost  as  a  sacred  book ;  and  it  was  the 
first  of  those  which  King  Alfred  chose  to 
translate  and  expound  for  the  instruction  and 
edification  of  his  rude  West  Saxon  subjects. 
But  it  was  not  only  the  religious  and  practical 
teaching  of  the  old  philosophers  which  Boe- 


114    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

thius  had  much  to  do  with  passing  on  to  the 
men  of  the  Middle  Ages.  In  his  desire  to  pro- 
mote among  his  contemporaries  the  knowledge 
of  matters  which  were  in  imminent  danger 
of  being  forgotten,  he  translated  from  Greek 
into  Latin  a  large  number  of  scientific  writings, 
among  them  works  of  Plato,  of  Aristotle,  of 
Euclid,  and  of  Archimedes.  Not  all  of  them 
survived;  but  his  versions  of  Aristotle's 
works  on  logic  and  his  commentaries  on  them 
bore  an  important  part  in  the  philosophical 
education  of  the  most  active  minds  among 
the  ancestors  of  the  modern  nations  of  Europe. 
Together  with  the  treatises  of  Aristotle  him- 
self on  the  various  kinds  of  judgment  and  of 
inference,  he  also  translated  and  expounded 
at  length  a  little  work  introductory  to  the  most 
elementary  of  these,  from  the  pen  of  a  certain 
Porphyry,  who  had  lived  at  the  end  of  the 
fourth  century,  a  friend  and  disciple  of  Plotinus, 
and  a  strong  opponent  of  Christianity. 

This  work,  which  is  a  quite  unpretending 
textbook,  dealt  with  what  were  called  the 
"  five  predicables."  Porphyry's  illustrations 
will  explain  this  expression.  If  I  say 
"  Socrates  is  a  man,"  I  state  the  kind  or  species 
of  being  that  he  is ;  if  I  say  "  men  are  animals," 
the  genus  or  kind  of  being  that  men — and 
many  other  things  as  well — are;  if  I  say 
"  men  are  possessed  of  reason,"  the  difference 
which  marks  off  the  human  species  from  other 


MINORITY  OF  MODERN  EUROPE    115 

species  of  the  genus  "  animal."  Again,  if  I 
say  "  men  are  capable  of  a  sense  of  humour," 
I  state  a  property  of  human  nature,  a  character- 
istic, that  is,  belonging  to  human  beings  only, 
and  to  them  as  human  beings,  which  follows 
from  that  which  distinguishes  them  from 
other  animals,  namely,  their  possession  of 
reason.  Lastly,  if  I  say  of  any  men  that  they 
are  fair  or  dark  or  sitting  down,  I  am  mention- 
ing accidents  of  human  nature,  characteristics 
which  men  may  have  or  may  not  have,  or 
states  which  they  may  or  may  not  be  in. 
Now,  speaking  at  the  very  outset  of  this  book 
of  the  first  two  of  these  predicables,  genus  and 
species,  Porphyry  observes  that  the  question 
may  be  raised  whether  genera  and  species 
exist  only  in  the  mind  or  independently  of  it, 
whether  they  have  a  being  apart  from  the 
individuals  which  belong  to  them  or  not. 
But  these  questions  he  passes  by  without 
deciding,  as  beyond  the  ken  of  so  elementary 
a  discussion  as  that  upon  which  he  is  engaged. 
The  passage,  which  at  once  called  the  atten- 
tion of  his  readers  to  problems  of  far  more 
interest  and  importance  than  the  immediate 
subject  of  the  book  in  which  it  occurred,  is  a 
good  example  of  the  way  in  which  what  is 
called  elementary  logic  may  attract  attention 
to  great  philosophical  problems.  Especially 
did  it  serve  this  purpose  in  the  days  of  the 
gradual  intellectual  revival  which  we  may 


116    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

date  from  the  return  to  western  Europe  under 
Charles  the  Great  (crowned  by  the  Pope  as 
successor  of  the  old  Roman  emperors  on 
Christmas  Day  A.D.  800)  of  something  more 
like  a  settled  and  civilized  government  than 
it  had  for  some  time  enjoyed. 

Such  elementary  logic  is  only  concerned 
directly  with  classifying  forms  of  statement  and 
distinguishing  ambiguities  among  them;  but 
behind  the  study  of  these  lie  those  questions 
about  the  relations  of  the  "one"  to  the  "many" 
with  which  we  have  met  before,  in  connexion 
first  with  the  philosophy  of  Socrates,  Plato, 
and  Aristotle,  and  again  with  the  Christian 
theologians  and  their  doctrine  of  the  Trinity. 

Porphyry  tells  us  of  genera  and  species: 
and  we  ask  :  "  How  are  many  individuals 
all  one  species  ?  And  how  are  many  species 
all  one  genus  ?  "  We  are  always  coming  up 
against  this  difficulty  of  reconciling  the  "  one  " 
and  the  "  many."  The  whole  world  of  our 
experience  is  stamped,  as  it  were,  throughout 
and  in  every  part,  with  the  character  of  being 
"  one  in  many,  and  many  in  one."  Every 
generation  of  philosophers,  in  presence  of 
freshly  discovered  facts  or  of  old  facts  recon- 
sidered, finds  itself  confronted  with  new 
forms  of  the  old  puzzle,  in  dealing  with  which 
it  may  learn  from  the  history  of  philosophy 
to  avoid  old  mistakes,  and  to  profit  by  the 
insight  of  its  predecessors. 


MINORITY  OF  MODERN  EUROPE   117 

The  men  of  the  earlier  Middle  Ages  in 
western  Europe  were  haunted  by  the  sense 
that  they  were  ignorant  of  much  that  a  past 
age  had  known.  They  did  not,  perhaps,  fully 
realize — though  some  of  them  were  not  with- 
out more  than  an  inkling  of  it — that  they 
were  in  the  position  of  shipwrecked  children. 
For  their  Christian  training  had  accustomed 
them  to  think  of  books  handed  down  from 
antiquity  as  the  repository  of  divine  revela- 
tion :  and  so  it  seemed  natural  to  them  to 
seek,  as  it  were,  for  the  necessaries  and  con« 
veniences  of  the  intellectual  life  among  the 
scanty  relics  of  the  ancient  literature,  rather 
than  to  catch  their  own  food  and  invent  their 
own  tools.  The  elementary  logic  of  Aristotle 
(which  was  all  that  they  had  of  his  philosophy 
from  the  ninth  to  the  twelfth  century)  was  an 
ingenious  tool  in  which  the  ablest  scholars 
took  much  delight;  through  practising  the 
use  of  it  they  sharpened  their  wits,  and  in  the 
eleventh  century  some  were  beginning  to 
venture  on  using  it  for  the  picking  of  locks 
with  which  the  less  bold  among  them  thought 
it  dangerous  to  tamper. 

The  great  French,  or  rather  Breton,  logician 
and  theologian,  Peter  Abelard  (1079-1142), 
whose  lectures  on  the  Mont  Ste.  Genevieve 
at  Paris  were  the  nucleus  of  the  University 
which  was  afterwards  the  chief  centre  of  in- 
tellectual activity  in  the  west  during  the 


118    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

Middle  Ages,  underwent  much  persecution 
at  the  hands  of  more  conservative  theologians 
— especially  of  the  saintly  mystic  and  ecclesi- 
astical reformer,  Bernard  of  Clairvaux  (1091- 
1153).  It  seemed  to  them  that  he  was 
irreverently  bringing  into  the  study  of  the 
most  sacred  subjects  a  reckless  ambition  to 
be  .  victorious  over  antagonists  in  debate,  in 
which  the  "  dialecticians "  of  the  twelfth 
century  after  the  Christian  era  resembled  the 
sophists  of  the  fourth  century  before  it.  His 
method  of  setting  forth  what  could  be  said  on 
different  sides  of  every  question,  his  delight  in 
pitting  one  revered  authority  against  another, 
his  love  of  seeking  in  pagan  writers  instruction 
on  religious  subjects,  were  all,  they  thought, 
to  be  accounted  for  by  his  inability  to  lay 
aside,  even  in  theology,  the  disputatious 
methods  of  logic  and  the  excessive  reverence 
for  heathen  masters  which  was  natural  in  a 
professor  of  a  science  whose  oracle  was  Aris- 
totle. But  the  next  generation  of  theologians 
had  been  Abelard's  pupils;  and  before  long 
the  method  of  approaching  every  question 
by  the  stating  of  the  arguments  for  and  against 
a  particular  solution  became  the  recognized 
method  of  the  schools  or  lecture-rooms,  the 
distinguishing  mark  of  those  whom  we  call 
the  "  Schoolmen  "  and  of  their  "  scholastic  ?! 
philosophy. 

In  respect  also  of   the  other  point  which 


MINORITY  OF  MODERN  EUROPE   119 

had  been  objected  to  Abelard  did  it  turn  out 
true  that  "  the  heresy  of  one  generation  was 
the  orthodoxy  of  the  next."  The  recovery 
in  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  century  of  the 
other  works  of  Aristotle,  besides  those  which 
dealt  with  the  elementary  logic  on  which  he 
was  already  the  recognized  authority,  pro- 
vided the  grateful  scholars  of  that  age  with 
a  teacher  who  seemed  ready  with  an  answer 
(if  sometimes  one  of  uncertain  meaning)  to 
every  scientific  and  philosophical  question 
that  could  be  raised.  It  might  have  been 
possible  for  theology  to  have  kept  elemen- 
tary logic  at  arm's  length;  but  the  newly 
found  works  of  Aristotle  were  encyclopaedic 
in  range,  and  plainly  discordant  in  certain 
respects  with  the  traditional  teaching  of 
the  Christian  Church.  These  disagreements 
were,  moreover,  emphasized  by  the  fact  that 
some  of  the  most  important  books  of  Aristotle 
had  come  to  western  Europe  through  the 
Mahommedan  scholars  of  Spain  and  accom- 
panied by  their  comments  thereon.  One  of 
these,  in  particular,  Ibn  Rosch,  who  was 
called  in  Latin  Averroes  (1126-1198),  came 
to  be  entitled  par  excellence  "  the  com- 
mentator," as  Aristotle  himself  was  "  the 
philosopher."  Averroes  was  a  nominal 
Mahommedan,  but  Aristotle  was  the  master 
whom  he  followed  as  an  infallible  guide ;  and 
two  doctrines,  in  particular,  which  he  found 


120    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

in  his  master's  writings,  those  of  the  eternity 
of  the  world  and  the  mortality  of  the  indivi- 
dual human  soul,  were  as  inconsistent  with 
the  traditional  teaching  of  the  Mahommedan 
religion  as  with  that  of  the  Christian.  It 
became  an  urgent  demand  that  the  learned 
world  of  western  Europe  should  make  up  its 
mind  as  to  the  bearing  of  Aristotle's  teaching 
on  doctrines  usually  accepted  as  part  of  a 
divine  revelation. 

Of  those  who  attempted  to  face  the  problem 
thus  presented  and  work  out  a  solution,  the 
most  celebrated  is  Thomas  Aquinas  (who 
died,  while  still  under  fifty,  A.D.  1274),  a 
Dominican  friar,  whose  system  of  philoso- 
phical theology  (which  supplied  much  of  the 
framework  of  Dante's  Divina  Commedia)  was 
one  of  the  greatest  achievements  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  Herein  he  essayed  to  harmonize, 
so  far  as  possible,  the  newly  recovered  specu- 
lations of  Aristotle  with  the  Christian  view 
of  the  world.  In  doing  this,  he  did  not  simply 
piece  his  authorities  together;  he  thought 
out  for  himself  each  point  as  it  came  up,  and 
produced,  despite  the  impediments  to  the 
free  play  of  speculative  thought  which  con- 
stant deference  to  various  authorities  de- 
manded, a  masterpiece  of  sober  criticism  and 
of  keen  insight  into  the  genuine  significance 
and  affinities  of  the  positions  adopted  or 
rejected.  It  may  be  observed  not  only  of 


MINORITY  OF  MODERN  EUROPE    121 

Thomas  Aquinas,  but  of  the  scholastic  philo- 
sophers in  general,  that  their  double  allegi- 
ance, to  the  Christian  tradition  and  to 
Aristotle,  resulted  in  a  greater  freedom  than 
a  single  allegiance  would  have  done.  There 
was  a  close  parallel  to  this  in  the  political 
sphere,  where  in  the  Middle  Ages  individual 
liberty  profited  by  the  distinction  and  frequent 
rivalry  between  Church  and  State.  In  the 
strength  of  his  citizenship,  the  individual 
could  stand  up  against  the  one,  in  the  strength 
of  his  churchmanship  against  the  other,  and 
in  either  case  could  depend  on  the  support 
of  a  power  universally  respected,  and  able  to 
defend  those  who  relied  upon  it. 

But  if  a  double  allegiance  was  favourable 
to  individual  freedom  in  the  intellectual  as 
in  the  political  world,  in  both  it  was  bound 
to  lead  to  a  collision  between  the  two  claim- 
ants to  the  allegiance  of  the  same  subject. 
The  nations  of  modern  Europe  had  received 
together  the  two  great  factors  of  their 
civilization,  the  tradition  of  classical  antiquity, 
and  that  of  the  Christian  Church.  These 
were  already  combined  when  the  barbarians 
entered  into  the  inheritance  of  the  Roman 
empire,  which  had  then  long  professed 
Christianity.  Rome,  as  at  once  the  imperial 
city  and  the  "  threshold  of  the  apostles," 
where  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  were  buried 
and  their  successor,  the  Pope,  ruled  in  their 


122    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

name,  was  their  link  alike  with  the  heroes  of 
the  one  tradition  and  the  sacred  personages 
of  the  other.  It  was  the  work  of  the  scholastic 
philosophy,  in  the  new  light  shed  on  the  former 
by  the  revelation,  through  a  fresh  channel,  of 
a  complete  ancient  philosophy,  that  of  Aris- 
totle, to  make  plain  the  deep-lying  differences 
between  the  two  traditions,  and  thereby  to 
help  in  bringing  about  the  dissolution  of  the 
mediaeval  form  of  civilization  which  had 
rested  upon  a  fusion  of  the  two. 

Very  soon  after  the  time  of  Abelard  it 
became  clear  that  a  complete  agreement 
such  as  he  had  hoped  to  see  between  philo- 
sophy and  theology,  in  which  the  teachings 
of  the  former  should  altogether  support  and 
confirm  those  of  the  latter,  was  not  to  be 
looked  for.  Thomas  Aquinas  went  a  long 
way  in  an  attempt  to  reconcile  the  two;  but 
he  was  constrained  to  draw  a  sharp  distinction 
between  those  theological  doctrines  which 
reason  could  find  out  for  itself,  and  others 
for  the  discovery  of  which  a  supernatural 
revelation  was  necessary.  It  is  worthy  of 
remark  that,  in  his  work  of  reconciliation 
and  of  distinction,  he  was  often  treading 
(where  the  agreement  of  the  Jewish  and 
Christian  religions  permitted  it)  in  the  foot- 
steps of  a  Jewish  philosopher  of  the  preced- 
ing century,  Moses  Maimonides  (1135-1204). 
But  other  mediaeval  thinkers  found  it  a 


MINORITY  OF  MODERN  EUROPE   123 

matter  of  greater  difficulty  to  establish  a 
satisfactory  frontier  between  the  dominions 
of  the  two  rival  powers  :  and  some  even  went 
so  far  as  to  assert  that  there  was  a  double 
standard  of  truth,  that  a  thing  might  be  true 
in  philosophy,  but  not  in  theology,  and  vice 
versa.  This  doctrine,  unsatisfactory  as  it  is, 
probably  served  a  useful  purpose  in  securing 
for  philosophers  freedom  to  pursue  their  in- 
vestigations in  independence  of  theological 
tradition.  On  the  other  hand,  if  philosophy 
was  not  merely  to  exchange  one  yoke  for 
another,  it  was  desirable  that  it  should  not 
commit  itself  altogether  to  guides  who 
ascribed  to  Aristotle  the  same  infallibility 
which  was  claimed  for  the  Bible  and  the 
Church.  Hence  it  was  of  no  small  advantage 
to  philosophy  that  on  the  problem  of  individual 
personality,  to  which  the  whole  movement 
traced  in  our  last  chapter  had  given  a  greater 
prominence  than  it  had  enjoyed  among  the 
ancients,  and  which  was  of  momentous  interest 
to  the  theologian,  Aristotle's  teaching  had 
been  ambiguous  and  unsatisfactory. 

We  saw  that  the  elementary  logic  books 
had  long  ago  raised  the  question  what  was 
meant  by  a  genus  or  a  species.  By  the 
thirteenth  century,  a  considerable  measure  of 
agreement  had  been  reached  as  to  the  mat- 
ter. Three  kinds  of  "universals" — natures, 
that  is,  common  to  several  individuals  and 


124    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

referred  to  when  general  terms  are  used — 
were  usually  recognized.  In  the  first  (or 
rather  the  last)  place  were  the  abstract 
general  notions  in  our  minds.  I  have,  for 
example,  seen  many  individual  horses,  and 
have  a  general  notion  of  what  they  all  have 
in  common.  But  this  general  notion  would 
be  but  a  valueless  figment  if  there  were  not, 
in  the  second  place,  something  really  common 
to  all  these  individuals,  not  indeed  separated 
from  the  accompanying  differences,  as  it  is 
in  my  notion  of  it,  but  yet  really  present  in 
the  individuals.  Thirdly,  it  was  not  denied 
that  in  the  mind  of  God  there  must  have 
existed  from  all  eternity  the  patterns  of  these 
common  natures.  Such  "  universals  existing 
before  the  individuals  "  Aristotle  would  not 
have  admitted;  but  they  were  admitted, 
under  the  name  of  Ideas,  on  the  express 
authority  of  Augustine,  at  a  time  when 
Aristotle  was  regarded  as  the  teacher  of  logic 
only,  and  when  his  elaborate  criticisms  of 
Plato's  theory  of  Ideas  were  not  to  hand. 
£fow,  however,  the  discussions  in  his  Meta- 
physics of  the  nature  of  substance,  that  is,  of 
what  exists  upon  its  own  account  and  not 
merely  as  an  attribute  of  something  else, 
brought  up  the  other  side  of  the  old  question ; 
for  we  certainly  regard  an  individual  man  as 
a  substance  in  this  sense ;  and  it  was  asked  : 
"  What  does  one  mean  by  an  individual  ? 


MINORITY  OF  MODERN  EUROPE    125 

How  do  individuals  of  the  same  species  differ 
from  one  another  ?  " 

Upon  this  problem  of  the  nature  of  indi- 
viduality some  of  the  best  thought  of  the 
scholastic  philosophers  was  expended.  It 
is,  in  fact,  a  very  difficult  problem.  For 
anything  we  state  about  an  individual  thing 
is  at  once  a  "  universal,"  which  applies,  or 
at  any  rate  might  apply,  to  other  individuals 
beside  this  one.  Might  one  not  suppose 
two  individuals  exactly  alike,  so  that  what- 
ever was  said  of  one  might  as  well  be  said 
of  the  other?  Then  what  is  it  that  makes 
them  different  individuals  ?  If  you  say : 
Well,  one  is  in  this  place  and  the  other  in 
that  place,  you  can  hardly  have  found 
where  the  real  individuality  of  either  lies  : 
for  many  other  things  might  be  in  either 
place,  and  these  two  may  an  instant  hence 
have  ceased  to  be  where  they  now  are. 

Various  views  of  this  question  were  held  by 
different  Schoolmen,  but  the  main  tendency 
among  them  was  in  the  direction  of  increasing 
the  emphasis  laid  upon  the  importance  of  the 
individual.  We  see  this  in  two  philosophers 
who  in  many  respects  were  poles  apart  in 
their  views  :  Duns  Scotus  (who  is  said  to 
have  died  in  1308),  and  William  of  Ockham 
(who  died  about  1350),  both  natives  of  the 
British  Islands  and  both  Franciscan  friars. 
Duns  was  called  in  his  day  the  "  subtle 


126    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

doctor,"  but  a  later  generation,  which  de- 
spised his  subtle  arguments  and  highly  valued 
the  literary  graces  which  he  had  neglected, 
came  to  use  his  name  in  the  form  "  dunce  " 
to  mean  an  illiterate  dullard.  What  how- 
ever now  concerns  us  is  his  insistence  that 
the  individuality  of,  e.  g.,  a  particular  man  is 
not  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  limitation  of  the 
common  nature  of  the  human  species,  but 
rather  as  a  higher  perfection  added  to  it. 

William  of  Ockham  went  further.  His 
rule  not  to  multiply  entities  beyond  what 
is  necessary  got  the  name  of  "  Ockham's 
razor,"  because  it  made  a  clean  sweep  of 
the  subtle  distinctions  of  which  there  was 
a  luxuriant  growth  in  the  philosophy  of 
other  schoolmen,  especially  of  Duns.  Ockham 
applied  this  rule  to  the  so-called  "  universals," 
or  common  natures — such  as  genera  and 
species.  These,  he  held,  have  no  existence 
beyond  our  minds,  where  they  arise  when 
we  think  of  a  number  of  similar  individual 
things  together  and  designate  them  by  a 
common  name.  This  doctrine  is  called 
Nominalism,  or  sometimes  Conceptualism 
(because  the  names  are,  after  all,  no  more 
than  signs  of  our  thoughts  or  conceptions). 
The  opposite  doctrine  which  attributes  to 
universals  or  common  natures  a  reality  inde- 
pendent of  our  minds  is  called  Realism. 
Now  we  have  seen  that  the  Christian 


COMING  OF  AGE  OF  EUROPE    127 

religion,  by  the  high  value  which  is  set  on 
individual  souls,  had  encouraged  philosophy 
to  concern  itself  more  than  it  had  done  in 
antiquity  with  the  problem  of  individual 
personality.  But  a  thoroughgoing  Nominal- 
ism, which  denied  that  several  real  beings 
could  really  be  one,  though  they  might  be 
considered  by  a  single  act  of  the  mind  or 
called  by  a  single  name,  was  difficult — except 
by  the  help  of  the  strange  doctrine,  already 
mentioned,  of  a  double  truth — to  reconcile 
with  certain  Christian  doctrines,  and  especially 
with  that  of  the  Trinity.  Thus  Nominalism 
was  a  view  in  putting  forward  which  Ockham 
and  his  followers  gave  expression  to  a  general 
desire  to  escape  from  the  trammels  of  tradi- 
tion, whether  classical  or  Christian;  while  at 
the  same  time,  revolutionary  movement  as  it 
was,  it  was  still  true  to  that  concentration  of 
interest  on  individual  personality  which,  on  the 
whole,  had  distinguished  the  thought  of  the 
Christian  era  from  that  of  classical  antiquity. 


CHAPTER  VI 

PHILOSOPHY  AT  THE   COMING   OF   AGE   OF 
MODERN     EUROPE 

IN  the  title  of  our  last  chapter,  the  Middle 
Ages  were  called  the  "  minority  "  of  modern 
Europe;  in  the  title  of  this,  the  name  of  its 


128    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

"  coming  of  age  "  is  given  to  what  is  commonly 
known  as  the  Renaissance,  the  new  birth, 
that  is,  of  literature  and  art  under  the  in- 
spiration of  a  greatly  increased  knowledge  of 
the  literature  and  art  of  classical  antiquity, 
which  took  place  in  the  fourteenth,  fifteenth, 
and  sixteenth  centuries.  A  brief  history  of 
philosophy  like  this  can  only  afford  to  touch 
very  lightly  on  many  aspects  of  this  great 
movement,  which  yet  influenced  philosophers 
no  less  than  other  men. 

Politically,  the  great  peoples  of  modern 
Europe,  the  English,  the  French,  the  Spaniards, 
the  Germans,  the  Italians,  had  arrived  at  a 
stage  of  their  development  where  they  were 
too  keenly  conscious  that  they  were  separate 
nations,  each  with  a  common  life,  common 
interests,  common  ambitions  of  its  own,  not 
to  be  impatient  of  the  restraints  imposed 
upon  these  by  the  international  institutions 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  under  whose  tutelage  they 
had  grown  up  to  maturity.  Such  institutions 
were  the  Catholic  Church,  under  its  earthly 
head,  the  Pope  of  Rome;  the  Empire,  which 
claimed  to  be  that  very  Roman  empire  into 
which  the  barbarian  ancestors  of  the  modern 
nations  had  pressed  long  ago,  and  whose 
civilization  and  religion  they  had  adopted ;  and 
the  feudal  system,  which  bound  men  to  one 
another  in  an  intricate  network  of  ties  of 
lordship  and  vassalage,  which  might,  and  not 


COMING  OF  AGE  OF  EUROPE    129 

infrequently  did,  cut  right  across  the  lines  of 
demarcation  between  nations.  Of  these  three, 
the  Empire  was  by  this  time  the  least  impor- 
tant; for  its  international  pretensions  had 
become  little  more  than  a  claim  to  ceremonial 
precedence  over  other  sovereigns  on  the  part 
of  the  German  kings,  who  had  long  enjoyed 
the  imperial  dignity  practically  as  a  matter 
of  course.  Yet,  in  the  two  countries  which 
were  considered  to  be  immediately  subject 
to  it,  Germany  and  Italy,  this  claim,  by 
putting  every  one  who  owned  no  superior  but 
the  emperor  on  a  level  with  sovereigns  else- 
where, retarded  the  rise  of  a  single  national 
sovereignty,  and  so  prevented  until  the  nine- 
teenth century  the  attainment  of  such  a 
national  unity  as  England,  France,  and  Spain 
had  long  enjoyed. 

At  the  period  we  have  now  reached,  how- 
ever, the  nations  had  grown  impatient  of 
international  restraints;  and  among  indi- 
viduals too  a  spirit  was  spreading,  to  which 
the  intellectual  authority  of  Aristotle  and  the 
religious  authority  of  the  Church  were  apt  to 
appear  no  longer  in  the  guise  of  welcome 
guides,  but  rather  of  encroaching  tyrannies. 
This  spirit  eventually  combined  with  the 
impulse  to  national  self-assertion  to  produce 
the  religious  movement  usually  called  the 
Reformation,  in  the  course  of  which  the  re- 
pudiation of  the  papal  supremacy  in  England, 

£ 


130    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

Scotland,  Holland,  Scandinavia,  and  parts  of 
Germany  and  Switzerland,  broke  up  the 
ecclesiastical  unity  of  Europe. 

Philosophy  profited  by  this  great  move- 
ment of  disruption,  not  so  much  because  the 
separated  Churches  taught  doctrines  which 
invited  philosophical  criticism  less  than  those 
of  the  body  from  which  they  had  separated, 
nor  because  their  teachers  and  rulers  were 
always  less  intolerant  of  such  criticism  than 
the  Catholic  priesthood,  but  because  an 
authority  deriving  its  origin  from  a  recent 
revolution  has  inevitably  less  power  of  offering 
effectual  resistance  to  further  change  than 
one  which  has  been  so  long  acknowledged, 
that  the  memory  of  man  runs  not  to  the 
contrary.  Of  the  movement  itself  the  chief 
leader  was  the  German,  Martin  Luther  (1483- 
1546).  The  famous  doctrine  which  was  the 
foundation  of  his  teaching,  that  a  man  is 
justified  by  faith  alone,  not  by  works,  has  a 
double  aspect.  On  the  one  hand,  it  aims  at 
making  the  individual  independent  in  his 
religious  life  of  any  system  of  ordinances 
and  penances  which  the  Church  may  pre- 
scribe. He  has  only  whole-heartedly  to  trust 
in  the  promises  of  God.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  same  faith,  according  to  Luther,  dispenses 
the  individual  from  the  anxious  scrutiny  of 
his  own  inner  condition  and  spiritual  attain- 
ment, so  much  encouraged  in  the  monastic 


COMING  OF  AGE  OF  EUROPE    131 

life  of  celibacy  and  retirement  from  the 
world,  which  to  the  men  of  the  Middle  Ages 
had  seemed  the  most  truly  Christian  life, 
but  which  Luther  himself  had,  after  personal 
experience  of  it,  ceased  to  regard  in  this 
light.  So  dispensed,  the  ordinary  duties  of 
a  householder  and  citizen  lie  open  to  him  as 
the  natural  sphere  of  human  activity,  in 
which  he  need  not  scruple  to  take  part. 

The  principle  of  the  Reformation,  regarded 
in  this  light,  is  in  close  agreement  with  the 
general  attitude  of  the  age  in  which  it  was  put 
forward.  It  was  an  age  in  which  the  indi- 
vidual was  asserting  his  independence,  not, 
however,  for  the  most  part,  as  in  earlier  times, 
in  order  to  turn  his  eyes  inward,  and  occupy 
himself  with  the  secrets  of  his  own  heart,  but 
rather  to  be  free  to  look  about  him,  and  enjoy 
the  feast  of  good  things  which  God  and  nature 
had  spread  before  him.  For  there  was  open- 
ing before  modern  Europe  at  this  its  coming  of 
age  a  world  of  wider  horizons  and  richer  in 
the  materials  of  enjoyment  than  its  childhood 
had  known.  To  adventure  oneself  upon  it 
by  taking  one's  share  of  its  work  and  its 
chances  of  good  and  evil  seemed  the  call  of 
duty;  to  turn  one's  back  upon  it  and  take 
refuge  in  a  cloister  cowardly  and  ungrateful. 

The  widening  of  horizons  and  increase  of  the 
materials  of  enjoyment  had  come,  in  the  first 
place,  through  the  revival  in  the  west  of  the 


132    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

study  of  Greek,  which  could  now  be  learned 
from  Greek  scholars  whom  the  advancing 
arms  of  the  Turks  (who  in  1453  captured 
Constantinople)  had  driven  to  take  refuge 
in  Italy.  This  opened  up  treasures  both  of 
knowledge  and  of  poetry  hitherto  closed 
against  the  learned  of  the  west.  They  could 
read  in  the  original  what  they  had  so  far  only 
read  in  translations;  they  could  read  much 
that  they  had  hitherto  not  read  at  all.  For 
example,  acquaintance  could  now  be  made  at 
first  hand  with  the  philosophy  of  Plato;  and 
Aristotle  himself  could  be  read  in  his  own 
tongue  and  apart  from  the  glosses  of  mediaeval 
schoolmen,  whether  Arabian  or  Latin.  More- 
over, the  keen  interest  excited  in  all  that 
related  to  classical  literature  did  not  limit 
itself  to  Greek  books.  Those  works  of  ancient 
Latin  authors  which  were  already  read  were 
studied  afresh  with  the  help  of  a  better  know- 
ledge of  their  time ;  and  others  long  forgotten 
were  brought  again  to  light.  To  the  new 
sense  of  nationality  the  political  thought  of  the 
ancient  Greek  and  Romans  was  more  con- 
genial than  mediaeval  theories  of  a  united 
Christendom  under  Pope  and  Emperor.  For, 
although  the  city-states  of  classical  antiquity 
were  not  national  states,  they  were  at  any 
rate  separate  and  independent  common- 
wealths, each  with  the  defence  of  its  interests 
against  hostile  neighbours  for  its  most  sacred 


COMING  OF  AGE  OF  EUROPE    133 

trust.  The  ideal  of  an  independent  national 
state  inspired  the  Prince  of  Niccolo  Macchia- 
velli  (1469-1527),  who  wished  to  see  such  an 
one  established  in  his  native  Italy ;  it  inspired 
also,  more  than  a  century  later,  the  Leviathan 
of  Thomas  Hobbes  (1588-1679),  who  during 
the  English  civil  war  expounded  the  principles 
on  which  he  held  all  such  states  to  be  based, 
for  a  generation  which  seemed  to  him,  for 
lack  of  understanding  these  principles,  to  be 
ready  under  one  pretext  or  another  to  impair 
the  unity  and  efficiency  of  the  sovereign 
power,  which  both  writers  (here  differing 
from  most  of  the  ancients)  regard  as  normally, 
though  not  necessarily,  concentrated  in  the 
hand  of  a  single  absolute  ruler. 

But  it  was  not  only  classical  antiquity  which 
was  no  longer  to  be  seen  through  a  mist  of 
mediaeval  tradition ;  a  clearer  view  could  also 
be  obtained  of  primitive  Christianity.  In  con- 
sequence, men  were  more  easily  induced  to 
challenge  the  right  of  existing  ecclesiastical 
institutions  to  claim  the  authority  of  an  age 
in  which  it  was  generally  admitted  that  the 
Christian  religion,  being  nearest  its  fountain- 
head,  must  have  been  at  its  purest. 

Moreover,  of  space  as  well  as  of  time  a 
vaster  range  was  open  to  the  survey  of  the  men 
of  the  Renaissance  than  that  with  which  their 
fathers  had  had  to  do.  In  1492,  the  voyage 
of  Columbus  had  revealed  to  Europe  a  new 


134    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

inhabited  world  beyond  the  ocean.  The 
great  epoch  of  discovery  which  thus  began 
immensely  stimulated  the  thirst  for  new  know- 
ledge, and  raised  men's  hopes  of  obtaining 
it.  The  pillars  of  Hercules,  as  the  ancients 
had  called  them — the  straits  of  Gibraltar,  as 
we  say — could  no  longer  be  looked  upon  as 
bounds  set  by  nature  in  that  direction  to  the 
enterprise  of  the  dwellers  in  Europe.  The 
device  of  a  ship  in  full  sail  setting  out  between 
those  pillars  to  explore  the  western  seas  was 
chosen  by  Francis  Bacon  (1561-1626),  the 
chief  representative  of  English  philosophy 
during  the  period  which  we  are  describing, 
to  adorn  the  frontispiece  of  his  Instauratio 
Magna,  or  Grand  Renovation  of  Philosophy. 
In  the  work  planned  under  this  ambitious  title, 
of  which  he  only  wrote  a  small  part,  and  which, 
indeed,  he  did  not  hope  to  complete,  the  author 
aimed  at  nothing  less  than  the  construction  of 
a  new  philosophy  based  on  a  survey,  carried 
out  by  a  new  method,  of  all  the  principal 
kinds  of  natural  phenomena. 

For,  of  all  the  means  by  which  the  men 
of  the  Renaissance  succeeded  in  passing  the 
limits  within  which  mediaeval  knowledge  of 
the  universe  had  been  confined,  that  which 
carried  them  and  was  destined  to  carry  their 
successors  by  far  the  furthest  was  their  closer 
attention  to  natural  phenomena.  This  closer 
attention  is  a  feature  of  the  last  rather  than 


COMING  OF  AGE  OF  EUROPE    135 

of  the  earlier  stages  of  the  movement;  it 
is  especially  characteristic  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  Natural  science  had  throughout 
the  Middle  Ages  been  neglected  in  comparison 
with  logic,  metaphysics,  and  theology.  Men 
like  the  English  Franciscan  friar,  Roger 
Bacon,  in  the  thirteenth  century,  who  made 
the  investigation  of  nature  his  chief  business 
and  urged  its  claims  to  greater  consideration, 
were  apt  to  be  suspected  of  heterodoxy. 
Among  the  common  folk  such  men  were 
often  regarded  as  wizards  in  league  with  evil 
spirits.  Not  only  was  this  the  case  with 
Roger  Bacon  himself,  but  even  the  Dominican 
Albertus  Magnus,  the  master  of  Thomas 
Aquinas,  and  honoured  by  the  Church  as 
"  the  blessed  Albert,"  figures  as  a  conjuror 
in  popular  legend  on  account  of  his  reputation 
for  natural  knowledge.  The  fact  that  experi- 
mental science  was  represented  by  the  al- 
chemists, who  aimed  at  discovering  a  way  of 
transmuting  the  baser  metals  into  gold  and 
affected  much  secrecy  in  their  operations, 
tended  to  encourage  an  association  in  men's 
minds  between  the  knowledge  of  natural 
processes  and  the  pursuit  of  worldly  objects 
by  mysterious  means. 

Francis  Bacon's  design  was,  by  means  of 
inquiries  some  of  which  should  be  experi- 
mental like  those  of  the  alchemists,  but 
purged  from  all  superstitious  taint  and 


136    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

directed  not  toward  immediate  gain,  but  to- 
ward a  thoroughgoing  knowledge,  vastly  to 
increase  in  the  long  run  the  dominion  of  man 
over  nature.  To  enjoy  such  a  dominion  was, 
he  held,  the  original  destiny  of  our  race.  But 
in  a  vain  and  impious  attempt  (described  in 
the  Biblical  story  as  "  eating  of  the  tree  of 
knowledge  of  good  and  evil  ")  to  make  laws 
for  himself  by  "  moral  philosophy,"  instead 
of  remaining  content  with  the  positive  com- 
mands of  God,  man  had  turned  aside  from 
his  proper  business  of  pursuing  "  natural 
philosophy,"  that  is,  of  studying  and  inter- 
preting the  works  of  God  and  raising  in  his 
own  intelligence  a  true  image  of  the  universe ; 
gaining,  in  other  words,  such  a  knowledge 
of  nature's  inner  workings  as  may  make  it 
possible  to  emulate  them.  The  failure  of  men 
hitherto  to  do  this,  and  the  depressing  tradi- 
tion that  the  processes  of  chemical  combina- 
tion were  necessarily  beyond  the  reach  of 
human  imitation,  showed  only  that  ancient 
theories  of  nature  were  merely  superficial  and 
had  not  penetrated  her  true  secrets.  But  "  in 
the  sweat  of  his  brow  "  man  may  yet  "  eat 
his  bread,"  that  is,  through  resolute  and 
patient  persistence  in  discriminating  observa- 
tion and  well -de  vised  experiment,  he  may 
wring  these  secrets  from  her  and  turn  them  to 
his  own  advantage.  For  this,  however,  a  new 
method  of  approach  is  necessary;  and  this 


COMING  OF  AGE  OF  EUROPE    137 

Bacon  endeavoured  to  provide  in  his  Novum 
Organurn,  that  is  "  the  New  Instrument,  '* 
which  was  to  take  the  place  of  the  old  Organon, 
namely  the  collection  of  Aristotle's  treatises 
on  logic,  which  were  so  called  as  constituting 
the  proper  "  instrument "  to  be  used  in 
reasoning,  whatever  one  was  reasoning  about. 
Nature,  Bacon  urged,  is  too  complex  for  so 
simple  a  method  as  the  syllogism,  which  the 
scholastic  tradition,  maintained  by  the  custom 
of  disputation  as  the  means  of  qualifying  for 
University  degrees,  regarded  as  the  only 
scientific  method,  to  be  "  adequate  to  its 
subtlety."  A  syllogism,  moreover,  could  only 
draw  conclusions  from  admitted  premises. 
In  practice,  the  premises  admitted  were  hasty 
generalizations  from  superficial  experience  or 
statements  made  by  Aristotle  or  other 
authorities,  which,  in  deference  to  a  supposed 
axiom  that  no  science  could  question  its  own 
first  principles,  were  not  submitted  to  re- 
examination.  The  supposed  axiom  in  ques- 
tion was  a  perversion  of  a  maxim  of  Aristotle, 
originally  intended  to  express  the  truth  that 
every  principal  science  has  a  subject  matter  of 
its  own  (as  e.  g.  arithmetic  has  numbers, 
geometry  has  figures  in  space)  to  which  our 
reasonings  within  that  science,  if  they  are  not 
to  lose  themselves  in  vague  generalities,  must 
be  careful  to  confine  themselves.  By  his 
insistence  upon  this  truth  Aristotle  had 

E  2 


138    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

rendered  an  important  service  to  science ;  but 
his  maxim  had,  in  Bacon's  judgment,  come 
to  be  used  to  check  the  free  play  of  criticism 
on  established  beliefs  about  nature,  which 
(though  often  very  questionable)  were  allowed 
so  to  prejudice  the  minds  of  students  that  to 
facts  which  did  not  support  them  no  attention 
was  paid.  Bacon  would  have  the  inquirer 
attend  to  all  facts.  He  was  to  "  enter  the 
kingdom  of  nature,  like  the  kingdom  of  grace, 
as  a  little  child,"  to  learn,  and  not  to  dictate. 
Nature  could  only  be  conquered  by  obeying 
her.  Nor  could  she  be  conquered  by  isolated 
efforts.  Such  discoveries  as  had  been  made 
had  frequently  been  lost  again  through  lack 
of  a  provision  for  recording  them.  Not  until 
there  was  a  systematic  collection  and  pre- 
servation of  facts  (which  could  not  be  without 
greater  expense  than  private  fortunes  could 
support)  would  it  be  reasonable  to  look  for  a 
properly  based  philosophy  of  nature. 

In  these  observations,  Bacon  showed  a  true 
insight  into  the  needs  and  prospects  of 
natural  science;  and  his  eloquent  announce- 
ment of  them  was  found  inspiring  in  the  next 
generation  by  Robert  Boyle,  the  "  father  of 
chemistry,"  and  the  other  founders  of  the 
Royal  Society.  But  neither  they  nor  any 
other  men  of  science  followed  in  detail  the 
method  proposed  by  Bacon.  He  called  this 
method  a  "  true  Induction."  It  had  been 


COMING  OF  AGE  OF  EUROPE    139 

usual  to  contrast  Induction  with  Syllogism, 
in  the  sense  of  a  process  by  which  a  number 
of  particular  instances  (all,  if  possible)  were 
brought  forward  to  establish  or  confirm  a 
general  rule ;  while  syllogism  would  show  it  to 
follow  from  the  combination  of  yet  more 
general  principles.  Bacon,  wishing  to  set  up, 
by  the  side  of  Syllogism,  a  method  better 
suited  to  the  requirements  of  natural  science, 
called  this  Induction,  as  starting  from  facts, 
not  from  assumptions;  unlike,  however, 
Induction  in  the  older  sense,  it  was  to  take 
even  more  account  of  "  negative  instances  " 
than  of  positive — that  is  (to  use  the  phrase- 
ology of  John  Stuart  Mill,  who  in  1843 
attempted  in  his  System  of  Logic  to  remodel 
the  Baconian  method  in  the  light  of  the 
actual  progress  of  the  sciences)  of  cases  "  in 
which  the  phenomenon  under  investigation  is 
absent,"  than  of  cases  in  which  it  is  present. 
Natural  science  can  only  be  said  to  employ 
Bacon's  inductive  method  in  the  very  general 
sense  that  it  agrees  with  it  in  starting  from 
facts,  in  noting  negative  instances,  and  in 
employing  systematically  collected  records 
of  past  experience;  not  in  the  sense  that  it 
uses  the  special  method  laid  down  in  the 
Novum  Organum.  Bacon,  then,  did  not,  as 
he  hoped  to  do,  supply  investigators  of  nature 
with  an  infallible  method ;  he  underrated  the 
immensity  of  the  task  before  them ;  he  himself 


140    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

made  no  contribution  of  first-rate  importance 
to  the  stock  of  natural  knowledge;  to  those 
questions  about  the  nature  of  ultimate  reality 
which  we  have  regarded  as  the  distinctive 
interest  of  philosophy,  he  was  not  specially 
attracted.  But  he  devoted  a  magnificent 
style  and  extraordinary  powers  of  mind  to  the 
mission  of  proclaiming  the  glorious  destinies 
of  natural  science  and  the  truth  (which  the 
Middle  Ages  had  practically  ignored)  that 
without  a  genuine  and  progressive  study  of 
natural  phenomena  philosophy  will  be,  at 
the  least,  half-starved.  His  own  description 
of  himself  as  buccinator  novi  temporis,  the 
trumpeter  of  a  new  age,  describes,  perhaps  as 
well  as  it  could  be  described,  his  real  position 
in  the  history  of  thought. 

The  age  of  Bacon  was  one  of  great  progress 
in  the  natural  sciences;  but  their  most 
eloquent  champion  showed  himself  by  no 
means  especially  ready  to  welcome  the  chief 
results  of  this  progress.  Of  his  countryman, 
William  Gilbert  (1540-1603),  the  founder  of 
the  sciences  of  electricity  and  magnetism,  he 
speaks  more  often  with  censure  than  with 
approbation;  and  he  ignored  the  great  dis- 
covery of  the  true  nature  of  the  circulation 
of  the  blood  made  by  his  own  physician, 
William  Harvey  (1578-1657),  who,  indeed, 
said  of  him,  in  contempt  of  his  scientific 
pretensions,  that  he  wrote  philosophy  like 


COMING  OF  AGE  OF  EUROPE    141 

(what  he  was  at  the  time)  a  Lord  Chancellor. 
Nor  did  he  bring  himself  to  accept  the  theory, 
the  triumph  of  which  has,  more  than  anything 
else,  made  the  mediaeval  view  of  the  universe 
seem  remote  and  strange  to  us.  This  was 
the  theory  put  forward  by  the  Polish  mathe- 
matician Nicolaus  Copernicus  in  1543,  and 
confirmed  by  the  discoveries  made  with  the 
lately  invented  telescope,  in  Bacon's  own 
time  and  within  his  knowledge,  by  the  Italian 
Galileo  Galilei  (1564-1642),  whose  account 
of  scientific  method  is  now  very  commonly 
acknowledged  to  be  superior  to  Bacon's,  espe- 
cially in  its  recognition  of  the  part  which  hy- 
pothesis and  mathematical  reasoning  must 
play  in  the  development  of  natural  science.  It 
was  the  theory  that  the  earth  rotates  daily 
upon  its  axis,  and  that  the  sun,  and  not  the 
earth,  is  the  centre  about  which  the  planets 
(and  the  earth  among  them)  revolve. 

Although  this  theory  was  not  unknown  in 
classical  antiquity,  it  never  succeeded  (in  the 
absence  of  the  confirmation  given  by  the 
telescope)  in  winning  the  general  assent  of 
astronomers,  and  in  the  Middle  Ages  it  was 
not  likely  to  be  revived  in  view  of  the  fact 
that  the  rival  hypothesis,  according  to  which 
the  earth  is  motionless  and  the  heavens 
revolve  about  it,  had  on  its  side  not  only  the 
apparent  evidence  of  the  senses  and  the 
language  of  the  Bible,  but  also  the  authority 


142    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

both  of  Aristotle  and  of  the  man  whose  book, 
known  as  the  Almagest,  was  the  chief  source 
of  astronomical  knowledge  for  the  scholars  of 
the  time,  the  astronomer  Ptolemy,  who  lived 
in  the  second  century  of  our  era. 

The  Copernican  theory,  which  Bacon  re- 
jected, a  contemporary  of  his,  Giordano 
Bruno  (1548-1600),  enthusiastically  welcomed. 
He  rejoiced  in  the  freedom  of  an  infinite 
universe  which  it  seemed  to  open  up.  The  old 
distinction  which  both  popular  religion  and 
the  Aristotelian  philosophy  had  drawn  be- 
tween "  the  heavens  "  and  "  the  earth  "  had 
vanished  with  the  belief  that  the  latter  was 
fixed  and  the  former  in  motion.  The  earth 
could  now  be  regarded  as  all  of  one  piece  with 
the  heavens,  and  no  less  divine  than  they. 

The  new  theory  was  not  allowed  to  pass 
unchallenged  by  those  who  feared  the  effect 
of  such  a  revolution  in  the  view  of  the  physical 
relations  between  man  and  his  dwelling-place 
upon  the  sentiments  of  men  toward  a  religion 
the  language  of  whose  sacred  books  and  for- 
mularies everywhere  implied  the  older  way 
of  looking  at  the  matter.  Bruno  was  tried 
for  the  venturesome  speculations  to  which  his 
acceptance  of  the  new  theory  had  led,  and 
burned  alive  by  the  sentence  of  the  Inquisi- 
tion at  Rome  in  1600;  and  in  1633  the  same 
tribunal  forced  the  aged  Galileo  to  retract  as 
heretical  the  doctrine  of  the  earth's  motion. 


DESCARTES  AND  HIS  SUCCESSORS    143 

A  legend,  for  it  is  no  more,  told  that,  as  the 
great  astronomer  rose  from  his  knees  after 
recanting,  he  said  "  All  the  same,  it  moves  !  " 
The  story  is,  no  doubt,  true  to  the  inner 
thought  of  him  of  whom  it  is  told;  and  it 
expresses  what  after  generations  feel  when 
they  read  of  the  recantation.  The  persecu- 
tions of  the  Inquisition  were  of  no  avail 
against  the  progress  of  the  truth  the  pro- 
clamation of  which  they  attempted  to  check. 
They  may  have  made  some  thinkers  more 
cautious  in  their  phraseology ;  but,  from  this 
time  onwards,  there  has  been  no  philosopher 
who  has  seriously  doubted  the  daily  revolution 
of  the  earth  upon  its  own  axis,  or  its  annual 
revolution  about  the  sun.  The  old  belief  in 
a  fixed  earth  set  in  the  centre  of  a  limited 
number  of  revolving  spheres  was  dead  for  ever. 


CHAPTER  VII 

DESCARTES   AND   HIS    SUCCESSORS 

WE  have  reached  in  our  history  an  age  in 
which,  for  educated  men,  the  stage  of 
"  heaven  and  earth,"  on  which  for  so  many 
centuries  the  drama  of  human  life  had  been 
played,  had  been  suddenly  discovered  to  be, 
as  it  were,  a  mere  illusion  of  the  theatre,  which 
would  vanish  if  the  spectator  did  but  shift 
his  seat.  The  earth  which,  it  had  been 


144    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

thought,  was  "  made  so  fast  that  it  could  not 
be  moved,"  was  found  to  be  in  fact  for  ever 
on  the  move;  while  the  sun,  so  far  as  his 
daily  course  was  concerned,  of  which  poets 
had  delighted  from  time  immemorial  to  sing 
as  coming  forth  from  his  chamber  to  run  from 
one  end  of  the  heaven  to  the  other,  was  all  the 
while  standing  still.  No  wonder  if,  in  such  an 
age,  the  inquisitive  mind  of  the  Frenchman 
Rene  Descartes  (1596-1650)  should  have  felt 
any  conviction  which  he  had  yet  entertained 
to  be  insecure  until  tested  by  the  touchstone 
of  a  deliberate  attempt  to  doubt  it. 

Accordingly  in  1619  he  undertook  to  carry 
doubt  as  far  as  it  would  go;  and  the  upshot 
was  that  he  found  one  thing  which  he  could 
not  doubt,  namely  his  own  existence.  For 
even  to  doubt  he  must  think,  and  to  think  he 
must  exist.  Hence  the  bedrock  of  certainty 
is  this  :  Cogito,  ergo  sum  ;  I  think,  therefore 
I  am.  We  must  bear  in  mind  that  what  he 
finds  thus  indubitable  is  only  his  existence  as 
a  thinking  being,  not  as  the  individual  with 
this  particular  body,  born  on  a  particular  day, 
and  so  forth.  Descartes  would  not  say  "  As 
sure  as  that  I  stand  here,"  but  only  "  as  sure 
as  that  I  am  now  thinking."  I  might  be 
under  a  delusion  as  to  the  position  of  my  body, 
nay,  as  to  my  having  a  body  at  all ;  but  not 
as  to  my  thinking,  in  the  broad  sense  in  which 
Descartes  uses  the  word  to  include  any  kind 


DESCARTES  AND  HIS  SUCCESSORS    145 

of  mental  operation  of  which  I  may  be  con- 
scious. I  can,  however,  go  further.  This 
consciousness  of  myself,  which  does  not  admit 
of  doubt,  I  shall  find  on  examining  it  to  be  a 
consciousness  of  self  as  something  imperfect, 
limited,  finite,  and  therefore  as  involving  an 
idea  of  something  perfect  and  infinite,  with 
which  I  contrast  myself  and  find  myself  fall 
short  of  it.  Here  we  meet  with  the  word 
"  idea  "  in  the  sense  in  which  we  are  nowa- 
days most  familiar. 

How  did  it  come  to  bear  such  a  meaning, 
so  different  from  that  which  we  saw  it  bore 
in  Plato's  philosophy?  The  explanation  is, 
briefly,  that  the  eternal  natures,  the  objects 
of  knowledge  strictly  so  called,  to  which 
Plato  gave  the  name,  came  by  later  thinkers 
and  especially  by  Augustine,  who  would  not 
admit  anything  to  be  eternal  beside  God,  to 
be  regarded  as  God's  eternal  thoughts,  related 
to  the  objects  of  our  experience  as  the  designs 
in  an  artist's  mind  to  the  works  of  his  hands. 
From  meaning  "  thoughts  in  the  divine  mind," 
the  word  was  extended  in  the  sixteenth 
century,  when  the  general  revolt  against  the 
tyranny  of  Aristotle  favoured  a  word  which 
he  had  discarded,  to  thoughts  in  the  human 
mind  also,  and  began  to  take  a  place  in  the 
vocabulary  of  philosophy  which  had  in  the 
Middle  Ages  been  filled  by  species,  not  in  the 
sense  of  a  "  kind  "  in  which  we  know  it  best, 


146    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

but  in  that  of  something  intermediate  between 
our  minds  and  the  independently  existing 
things  of  which  they  are  aware,  and  repre- 
senting within  the  mind  what  exists  on  its 
own  account  outside  of  it. 

It  is  in  such  a  sense  that  "  idea "  was 
used  both  by  Descartes  and  by  his  English 
contemporary  and  correspondent  Hobbes. 
Hobbes,  however,  would  not  agree  with 
Descartes  that  we  could  be  said  to  have  the 
idea  of  an  infinitely  perfect  being.  This  was 
because  Hobbes  always  meant  by  an  idea 
something  which  was  the  result  of  an  im- 
pression on  the  objects  of  sense.  Hobbes 
was  not  disinclined  to  conjecture  the  existence 
of  an  eternal  power,  the  cause  of  all  that 
happens  in  the  world,  which  one  may  call 
God;  but  of  this  power,  as  distinct  from  its 
effects,  which  alone  affect  our  senses,  and  so 
give  rise  to  ideas,  we  can  be  held  to  form 
no  definite  conception  or  idea.  Descartes 
thought  otherwise.  There  are  other  things, 
he  pointed  out,  of  which  we  can  have  an  idea 
in  the  sense  of  a  definite  conception,  which  yet 
we  cannot  picture  to  ourselves  with  the  same 
definiteness,  such  as,  for  example,  a  figure 
with  a  thousand  sides.  Of  a  perfect  being, 
we  have  a  positive  and  in  that  sense  definite, 
though  not  a  detailed,  conception.  Yet  this 
"  idea "  cannot  be  supposed  to  be  derived 
from  ourselves  whom  we  perceive  to  be  im- 


DESCARTES  AND  HIS  SUCCESSORS    147 

perfect,  and  just  in  that  very  perception  be- 
come aware  of  the  perfection  of  which  we  fall 
short.  Its  presence,  then,  within  us  is  in- 
explicable except  on  the  supposition  of  a  real 
being  which  is  its  original.  And  indeed  (so 
Descartes  argues)  the  idea  of  a  perfect  being 
implies,  as  no  other  does,  the  real  existence  of 
such  a  being.  For,  while  with  any  other  being 
of  which  I  may  have  an  idea  there  is  no  con- 
tradiction involved  in  thinking  of  it  as  some- 
thing which  might  exist,  but  actually  does 
not,  the  notion  of  an  absolutely  perfect  being 
which  does  not  exist  is  as  self -contradictory  as 
that  of  a  hill  without  a  valley,  or  of  a  triangle 
whose  angles  were  not  equal  to  two  right 
angles.  It  would  be  the  notion  of  a  perfect 
•being  which,  as  lacking  reality,  was  imperfect. 
This  argument  is  usually  known  as  the 
Ontological  Argument  for  the  existence  of 
God.  Although  it  is  called  an  argument  for 
the  existence  of  God,  we  must  not  think  of  it 
as  proving  by  itself  the  existence  of  a  being 
such  as  we  generally  mean  by  the  word 
"  God  " ;  a  being  with  whom  it  is  possible  to 
establish  what  we  may  call  personal  relations 
of  worship  and  communion.  What  it  does  is 
something  different  from  this.  In  the  first 
place,  it  points  out  the  consciousness  of  an 
infinite  or  perfect  nature  implied  in  our 
consciousness  of  our  own  finitude  or  imper- 
fection; in  the  second,  it  gives  a  striking 


148    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

expression  to  a  conviction  which  only  the 
most  extreme  scepticism  can  even  pretend  al- 
together to  have  laid  aside,  namely  the  con- 
viction that  all  thought  and  consciousness  is 
thought  and  consciousness  of  something  real. 
When  we  make  mistakes  (as  we  often  do),  we 
are  not  conscious  of  nothing  real,  but  only 
mistaking  one  real  thing  for  another,  or  think- 
ing of  two  real  things  as  together  which  are 
really  apart,  or  of  two  real  things  as  apart 
which  are  really  together. 

The  cause  of  such  mistaking  Descartes 
thought  was  always  some  degree  of  wilfulness, 
if  only  that  of  judging  one  way  or  the  other 
when  one  did  not  really  know.  Moreover, 
unless  we  possessed  a  capacity  of  distinguish- 
ing genuine  knowledge  from  what  is  not  such, 
we  should  not  be  able  to  avoid  making  such 
mistakes,  or  to  correct  them  when  made. 
Such  a  capacity,  however,  Descartes  held 
that  we  did  possess.  When  our  perceptions 
are  clear  and  distinct,  when  there  is  no  ob- 
scurity in  what  we  perceive,  and  we  are  aware 
too  that,  besides  what  is  thus  plain  to  us, 
there  is  nothing  else  present  in  what  we  per- 
ceive, then  the  only  doubt  that  can  remain  is 
the  doubt  whether  we  may  not  be  the  dupes 
of  some  malignant  demon  which  finds  pleasure 
in  deceiving  us.  This  doubt  is  removed  when 
we  are  convinced  of  the  existence  of  God,  the 
perfect  being,  the  idea  of  which  we  could  not 


DESCARTES  AND  HIS  SUCCESSORS    149 

have  unless  such  an  one  there  were;  for 
among  God's  perfections  veracity  must  be 
included,  and  by  the  divine  veracity  what  is 
clear  and  distinct  to  us  by  the  light  of  nature 
is  guaranteed.  We  will  not  look  for  flaws  in 
this  argument,  but  content  ourselves  with 
noting  that  in  this  way  the  warrant  of  such 
clear  and  distinct  knowledge  as  is  yielded  by 
the  mathematical  sciences,  of  which  Descartes 
was  a  great  master,  is  found  in  the  perfection 
of  God,  and  that  this  in  its  turn  is  considered 
to  be  involved  in  that  knowledge  of  one's  own 
existence  as  a  thinking  being  which  we  may 
gain  even  from  the  act  of  doubting  whatever 
can  be  doubted. 

In  thus  taking  the  mind  which  thinks  as 
the  one  indubitable  fact  which  can  serve  as 
a  starting  point,  and  leaving  it  as  a  question 
to  be  subsequently  determined  whether  there 
exists  anything  else  outside  of  it  corresponding 
to  its  "  ideas,"  which  are  described  as  if  they 
were  known  at  first  only  as  part  of  it,  the 
philosophy  of  Descartes  (and  much  other 
modern  philosophy  with  it)  stands  in  sharp 
contrast  with  that  of  antiquity.  The  Greek 
philosophers  may  be  said,  speaking  generally, 
to  have  taken  as  beyond  doubt  the  existence 
of  a  real  world,  including  the  mind,  which 
fulfils  its  peculiar  function  in  apprehending  the 
rest.  No  doubt,  they  held  that  much  seemed 
real  that  was  not;  but  that  something  was 


150    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

real  they  considered  as  beyond  question. 
Mediaeval  philosophy,  although,  under  the 
influence  of  Christianity,  it  might  exalt  the 
human  spirit  to  the  highest  place  among 
created  things,  and  even  regard  (in  this  depart- 
ing from  its  master,  Aristotle)  the  physical 
universe  as  existing  for  its  sake,  did  not  break 
away  from  the  conviction  which  it  inherited 
from  antiquity  that  the  existence  of  something 
real  other  than  the  human  mind  was  beyond 
question.  Descartes  did  thus  break  away  in 
doubting  the  existence  of  everything  but  his 
own  mind.  Nor  could  he  recover  himself 
from  this  doubt  except  by  the  help  of  the 
Ontological  Argument  which,  in  assuring  him 
of  the  existence  of  God  from  the  consideration 
that  his  own  nature  as  a  thinking  being  implies 
it,  guaranteed  also  the  existence  of  a  world 
corresponding  to  his  clear  and  distinct  ideas. 
Without  this  argument  he  would  have  been 
left  with  no  certainty  that  anything  existed 
beyond  the  thinking  mind. 

Now  this  argument  had  been  brought  for- 
ward already  by  one  of  the  earliest  and 
greatest  of  mediaeval  thinkers,  Anselm,  who 
was  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  from  1093  till 
his  death  in  1109.  But  the  Schoolmen,  not 
having  parted  company  from  the  ancients' 
unquestioning  certainty  that  a  real  world 
beyond  the  mind  existed,  did  not  appreciate 
its  importance;  and  it  never  attracted  so 


DESCARTES  AND  HIS  SUCCESSORS    151 

much  attention  in  the  Middle  Ages  as  it  has 
in  modern  times  since  its  revival  by  Descartes. 
Our  clear  and  distinct  knowledge  being  thus 
guaranteed,  it  is  important  to  observe  what 
knowledge  is  to  be  considered  as  having  this 
character.  We  have  seen  already  that  mathe- 
matical knowledge  has  it ;  and,  for  Descartes, 
only  such  knowledge  of  bodies  is  "  clear  and 
distinct  "  as  is  either  mathematical  and  re- 
lates to  them  considered  as  extended  in 
space,  or  mechanical  and  relates  to  them  as 
moving  in  space  from  one  point  to  another. 
Extension  is  the  essence  of  body;  for  what- 
ever other  attributes  a  body  may  have  be- 
sides, it  may  cease  to  have  without  ceasing 
to  be  a  body.  That  which  fills  space  is 
capable  of  being  divided  ad  infinitum,  and  of 
being  variously  shaped  or  figured;  the  in- 
finitely numerous  parts  may  be  variously 
joined  or  disjoined,  thus  producing  the  various 
figures;  and  such  rearrangement  is  possible 
only  through  motion.  Nothing  about  bodies, 
then,  but  their  occupancy  of  space,  their 
shape,  and  their  motion  can  be  clearly  and 
distinctly  conceived.  In  all  other  attributes 
which  we  commonly  ascribe  to  bodies,  such 
as  colour  or  warmth  or  sound,  there  is  mixed 
something  which  does  not  belong  to  the  bodies 
themselves,  but  to  our  souls  which  perceive 
them;  and  if  we  take  these  attributes  as  we 
find  them,  and  try  to  conceive  of  them  as 


152    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

belonging  to  the  bodies  we  call  coloured  or 
warm  or  whatever  it  may  be,  we  shall  find 
ourselves  beset  with  all  sorts  of  puzzles  and 
as  far  as  possible  from  "  clear  and  distinct " 
knowledge. 

This  refusal  to  consider  any  attributes  of 
bodies  as  really  belonging  to  them  apart  from 
our  perception  of  them  which  are  not  sus- 
ceptible of  mathematical  and  mechanical 
treatment  was  also  made  in  antiquity  by 
Democritus  and,  among  Descartes'  own  con- 
temporaries, by  Galileo  and  by  Hobbes.  The 
importance  of  it  is  that  it  clears  the  way  for 
a  consistently  mechanical  treatment  of  the 
physical  universe.  An  attempt  at  such  a 
treatment  could  at  this  period  be  made  under 
more  satisfactory  conditions  than  had  ever 
before  obtained,  owing  to  the  establishment 
by  Kepler  (1571-1630),  Galileo,  and  Des- 
cartes himself  of  what  were  afterwards,  as 
formulated  by  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  called  the 
first  and  second  laws  of  motion.  The  former 
of  these  is  the  law  that  a  body  must  continue 
in  a  state  of  rest  or  of  uniform  motion  in  a 
straight  line  unless  acted  on  by  some  external 
force.  The  latter  is  the  law  that  change  of 
motion  (which  must  thus  be  due  to  a  new 
force  acting  upon  the  body,  beside  that  which 
first  set  it  in  motion)  takes  place  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  newly  impressed  force,  and  is 
proportional  to  it;  the  resulting  motion  thus 


DESCARTES  AND  HIS  SUCCESSORS    153 

being  a  composition  of  the  original  motion 
with  that  which  the  second  force  would  have 
impressed  had  the  body  been  at  rest  when  it 
began  to  act  upon  it. 

In  their  interest  in  the  attempt  to  explain 
the  phenomena  of  physical  nature  on  mathe- 
matical and  mechanical  principles  alone, 
Hobbes  and  Descartes  were  at  one;  but 
Hobbes  went  further.  He  thought  it  possible 
to  see  not  only  in  all  physical  processes,  but 
also  in  consciousness,  a  kind  of  motion.  To 
Descartes,  on  the  other  hand,  it  seemed 
meaningless  to  speak  either  of  a  mind  or 
consciousness  as  in  motion,  or  of  a  body  as 
thinking  or  conscious.  We  have,  he  held,  a 
clear  and  distinct  idea  of  extension  apart 
from  thinking,  and  of  thinking  apart  from 
extension.  For  this  reason,  he  could  call 
that  which  was  extended,  or  matter,  and  that 
which  was  conscious,  or  mind,  alike  by  the 
name  of  "  substances,"  that  is,  things  existing 
on  their  own  account ;  because  each  could  be 
conceived — indeed,  could  only  be  conceived — 
as  independent  of  the  other.  But  this  sharp 
contrast  of  mind  and  matter,  as  two  things 
quite  independent  of  one  another,  presents  an 
obvious  difficulty  when  we  think  of  their 
intimate  union  in  our  own  persons.  The 
problem  of  this  union  gave  Descartes  and  his 
followers  no  little  trouble.  Organic  bodies 
of  all  kinds  they  regarded  as  machines; 


154    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

whatever  happened  within  them  was  to  be 
explained  on  the  mechanical  principles  which, 
as  we  have  seen,  were  applied  to  the  physical 
universe  of  which  they  form  part.  States  of 
mind,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed  as  little 
capable  of  being  explained  by  bodily  move- 
ments as  bodily  movements  by  states  of 
mind.  Yet,  assuredly,  in  our  own  experience 
bodily  movements  and  states  of  mind  appear 
to  affect  one  another.  The  attempts  of 
Descartes  himself  to  get  over  this  difficulty 
were  far  from  successful.  It  gave  away  the 
case  for  the  impossibility  of  interaction 
between  soul  and  body,  without  making  it 
in  the  least  more  intelligible,  to  say  that  it 
took  place  only  at  one  point  in  the  body,  in 
what  is  called  the  pineal  gland  in  the  brain, 
and  only  there  through  what  Descartes  de- 
scribed as  the  "  animal  spirits."  These  he 
supposed  to  be  a  subtle  kind  of  fluid,  distilled 
in  the  heart  from  the  finest  particles  of  the 
blood  and  driven,  on  strictly  mechanical 
principles,  from  the  heart  to  the  brain,  and 
thence  through  the  nerves  and  muscles.  The 
motions  of  these  spirits  were  the  cause  of 
all  the  spontaneous  movements  of  animals, 
but  were  in  human  beings  capable  of  being 
directed,  although  not  originated,  by  the  soul. 
These  "  animal  spirits  "  were  a  mere  figment ; 
and,  though  there  is  really  such  a  thing  in 
the  human  body  as  the  pineal  gland,  there  is 


DESCARTES  AND  HIS  SUCCESSORS    155 

no  good  reason  for  supposing  it  to  be  the  seat 
of  the  soul;  and,  even  if  it  were  otherwise, 
the  difficulty  they  were  invoked  to  solve 
remains  just  where  it  was  before. 

More  consistent  was  the  theory  known 
as  Occasionalism,  which  afterwards  obtained 
among  the  Cartesians  (as  the  followers  of 
Descartes  are  called),  and  is  especially  associ- 
ated with  the  name  of  Arnold  Geulincx  (1625- 
1669).  According  to  this  view,  there  is  really 
no  interaction  between  body  and  soul :  the 
appearance  of  it  must  be  referred  to  the 
action  of  God,  an  absolute  dependence  upon 
whom  is  the  only  thing  which  they  have  in 
common.  The  stimulation  of  any  optic  nerve 
by  the  sun's  rays  is  not  the  cause  of  my 
sensation  of  light;  but  on  occasion  of  the 
former,  God  causes  in  me  the  latter.  Nor 
is  my  will  to  move  my  hand  the  cause  of  its 
movement;  but  on  occasion  of  the  former, 
God  causes  the  latter  to  take  place.  We 
need  not,  however,  think  of  the  occasion  in 
the  second  instance  as  arising  independently 
of  God,  any  more  than  in  the  first,  where  it 
is  the  result  of  the  universal  laws  of  matter 
and  motion  which  his  will  has  established. 
He  is  the  cause  of  our  willing  as  well  as  of 
our  bodily  movements;  and  so  the  relation 
of  body  and  soul  may  be  compared  to  that 
between  two  clocks  wound  up  to  keep  time 
together,  so  that  to  every  movement  of  the 


156    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

one  will  exactly  correspond  a  movement  of 
the  other.  Occasionalism  thus  supposes  the 
mind  or  soul,  when  it  is  what  we  call  "  per- 
ceiving," to  depend  immediately  upon  God, 
without  any  mediation  of  the  bodies  which 
it  is  commonly  said  to  perceive;  while,  on 
the  other  hand,  it  holds  that  only  through 
the  mediation  of  God  can  souls  and  bodies 
come  together. 

Another  Cartesian,  the  Oratorian  priest 
Nicolas  Malebranche  (1638-1715),  only  carried 
these  views  a  little  further  when  he  taught 
that  the  clear  and  distinct  idea  of  extension 
or  body  which  we  have  when  we  apprehend 
its  mathematical  qualities — since,  being  an 
idea,  it  cannot  belong  to  the  extended  world  of 
bodies,  nor,  being  an  idea  of  extension,  to  the 
mind,  to  which  extension  is  on  the  principles 
of  Descartes  utterly  foreign — can  only  belong 
to  God,  in  whom  alone  the  two  kinds  of  being 
come  together.  Hence,  according  to  Male- 
branche, what  we  really  have  before  us  in 
apprehending  bodies  as  the  mathematician 
does  are  not  ideas  of  our  own  minds,  but 
ideas  of  God,  the  eternal  patterns  of  the 
bodies  which  make  up  the  extended  or 
material  world ;  we  thus  may  be  said  to  "  see 
all  things  in  God."  We  may  note  that 
this  theory  explains  "  ideas  "  in  Descartes' 
sense  of  "  human  thoughts  "  as  "  ideas  "  in 
Augustine's  sense  of  divine  thoughts;  and 


DESCARTES  AND  HIS  SUCCESSORS    157 

Augustine  was  a  thinker  for  whom  Malebranche 
had  an  especial  admiration. 

The  philosophy  of  Descartes  and  his 
followers  sets  matter  and  mind,  extension 
and  thought,  over  against  one  another,  each 
being  just  what  the  other  is  not,  and  having 
nothing  in  common  with  the  other  but  a 
continual  dependence  upon  the  source  of 
all  existence,  God.  This  dependence,  how- 
ever, would  justify  a  strict  Cartesian  in 
refusing  to  either  of  them  the  title  of  a  "  sub- 
stance," if  by  "  substance  "  we  mean  what 
Descartes  meant,  something  which  can  be 
conceived  as  completely  independent  of  any- 
thing else.  This  refusal  was  actually  made 
by  a  thinker  who  began  his  philosophical 
career  as  a  Cartesian,  but  is  too  great  a  man 
to  be  reckoned  merely  among  the  followers 
of  any  one  else,  the  Jew  Baruch,  or  Benedict, 
Spinoza  (1632-1677).  For  him,  there  was 
but  one  Substance,  God  or  Nature,  of  which 
extension  and  thought  are  to  be  regarded  as 
44  attributes."  We  have,  he  holds,  no  reason 
for  supposing  them  to  be  the  only  attributes 
of  this  substance;  but  to  us  no  others  are 
known.  As  with  the  Occasionalists,  so  with 
Spinoza,  these  two  "  attributes  "  never  inter- 
act with  one  another  or  overlap  one  another. 
The  nature  of  God  or  the  universe  may  be 
expressed  in  terms  of  either.  There  is  what 
may  be  called  a  complete  parallelism  between 


158    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

them,  so  that  there  can  be  nothing  in  the 
mind  which  is  not  the  "  idea "  or  mental 
counterpart  of  something  bodily  or  material; 
nor  anything  in  the  material  world  of  which 
there  is  not  a  corresponding  "  idea." 

To  the  whole  material  system  corresponds 
such  an  understanding  of  it  as  is  the  goal 
of  the  physicist,  an  understanding  in  which 
there  is  no  thought  of  purposes  or  "  final 
causes,"  but  only  of  a  mathematical  or 
mechanical  necessity.  Such  an  imperfect 
apprehension  of  it  as  any  one  of  us  actually 
has — and  which  constitutes  his  "  soul  " — 
is  primarily  a  consciousness  of  that  part  of 
the  system  which  is  called  his  "  body,"  and 
of  any  other  parts  only  so  far  as  they  are 
in  direct  or  indirect  contact  with  this.  All 
in  our  "  souls "  that  has  reference  to  our 
"  bodies "  as  things  taken  apart  from  the 
whole  system  of  material  nature  (or,  as 
Spinoza  would  say,  of  God  under  the  attri- 
bute of  extension)  only  belongs  to  them  so 
far  as  they  themselves  are  similarly  taken 
out  of  their  context  in  the  complete  system 
of  thought  which  he  calls  "  the  infinite  under- 
standing of  God."  Such  are  the  emotions 
which  correspond  to  the  effort  by  which  a 
particular  body  maintains  for  a  while  its 
separate  existence.  Such  again  is  the  sense 
of  acting  spontaneously  and  for  purposes  of 
our  own,  which  we  experience  when  our 


DESCARTES  AND  HIS  SUCCESSORS    159 

movements  are  immediately  due  to  processes 
within  our  bodies,  the  more  remote  causes  of 
which  lie  in  a  region  of  the  material  universe 
which  is  beyond  our  ken.  Thus  what  is 
sometimes  called  our  consciousness  of  the  free- 
dom of  our  wills  turns  out  to  be  in  Spinoza's 
judgment  merely  a  result  of  the  combination 
of  direct  perception  of  the  effect  with  ignor- 
ance of  the  cause.  If  a  stone,  after  being 
thrown  into  the  air,  should  by  some  miracle 
become  conscious,  it  would  find  itself  moving, 
yet  be  ignorant  of  what  set  it  in  motion,  and 
might  naturally  suppose  its  movement  due 
solely  to  itself.  We  are,  in  respect  of  what 
we  suppose  to  be  our  spontaneous  acts,  hi 
the  position  of  such  a  stone. 

It  may,  indeed,  be  doubted  whether  the 
consciousness  of  freedom  which  we  have  in 
certain  cases  can  be  thus  explained  away, 
and  whether,  if  placed  in  the  position  of  the 
stone  in  Spinoza's  illustration,  we  should 
suppose  ourselves  to  be  acting  freely.  But, 
however  that  may  be,  we  must  observe  that 
Spinoza  does  not  hold  that,  in  discovering 
this  supposed  consciousness  of  freedom  to  be 
due  merely  to  the  imperfection  of  our  know- 
ledge, we  need  feel  ourselves  robbed  of  any- 
thing truly  valuable.  There  is,  he  thinks,  a 
much  more  precious  kind  of  consciousness  of 
freedom  which  comes  not  from  ignorance, 
but  from  knowledge.  In  proportion  as  a 


160    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

man  sees  in  all  that  he  is  and  does  and  suffers, 
a  consequence  of  the  eternal  and  unchange- 
able nature  of  the  universe,  or,  as  Spinoza 
would  say,  of  God,  he  is  delivered  from  the 
bondage  in  which  he  remains,  at  the  mercy 
of  vain  hopes  and  fears,  so  long  as  he  thinks 
of  himself  as  having  interests  and  possibilities 
of  his  own  apart  from  the  whole  of  which  he 
forms  a  part.  Spinoza  can  take  this  view 
because  he  is  sure  that  no  satisfaction  and 
peace  can  be  greater  than  those  which  come 
in  the  train  of  knowledge,  and  which  culmi- 
nate in  what  he  calls  "  the  intellectual  love  of 
God."  He  does  not  mean  by  this  expression 
a  sentiment  such  as  we  may  entertain  towards 
another  person  who  loves  us,  or  whom  we 
hope  may  love  us  in  return.  In  this  love  of 
God,  there  is  no  more  question  of  reciproca- 
tion than  in  that  of  which  Aristotle  had  spoken. 
Alike  to  Aristotle  and  to  Spinoza,  God's  own 
knowledge  and  enjoyment  can  only  be  a 
knowledge  and  enjoyment  of  his  own  nature. 
But  here  the  resemblance  between  the  two 
philosophers  ends.  For  Aristotle  nowhere 
speaks  as  though  our  being  were  included 
within  God's,  or  our  knowledge  and  love  of 
God  within  God's  knowledge  and  love  of 
himself.  Spinoza,  on  the  other  hand,  teaches 
that  our  understanding  or  knowledge  of  God 
is  a  part  of  God's  infinite  understanding  or 
knowledge  of  himself,  and  our  "  intellectual 


DESCARTES  AND  HIS  SUCCESSORS    161 

love  "  of  him  a  part  of  the  infinite  love  with 
which  God  loves  himself.  We  may  even  speak 
of  a  love  of  God  for  us;  but  this  is  not  a 
different  thing  from  our  love  for  God.  The 
love  of  God  for  himself,  of  which  our  love  for 
God  is  part,  is  a  love  for  ourselves,  because 
our  minds  and  the  thoughts  which  consti- 
tute them,  so  far  as  they  think  clearly  and 
thoroughly,  are  parts  of  that  one  eternal 
system  of  thought  which  is  God  viewed  under 
the  "  attribute  of  thought,"  just  as  our  bodies 
are  parts  of  that  eternal  system  of  matter  in 
motion  which  is  God  viewed  under  the  "  attri- 
bute of  extension."  Though  Spinoza  spoke 
so  much  of  God,  he  seemed  to  mean  by  the 
word  something  so  different  from  what  was 
meant  by  it  in  the  language  of  most  religious 
teachers  that,  for  a  long  time,  he  was  com- 
monly regarded  as  an  atheist  and  the  very 
chief  of  atheists.  But,  if  by  an  atheist  be 
meant  a  man  without  religion,  no  name  could 
be  less  suitably  applied  to  Spinoza,  who 
found  the  most  exalted  language  of  religion 
no  more  than  adequate  to  describe  the  im- 
pression made  upon  him  by  the  contemplation 
of  that  nature  which  was  revealed  alike  in 
the  laws  of  matter  and  motion,  and  in  the 
laws  of  the  thought  which  can  discover  these. 
In  this  contemplation,  however,  it  is  not 
easy  to  see  what  individuality  is  left  to  par- 
ticular human  minds.  Just  as  your  body  or 

F 


162    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

mine,  regarded  purely  from  the  point  of  view 
of  the  physicist,  is  all  of  one  piece  with  the 
whole  world  of  matter  and  motion,  and  no 
more  marked  off  from  the  rest  than  any 
larger  or  smaller  portion  of  that  world  that 
it  might  happen  to  be  convenient  to  select 
for  consideration,  so  also  in  your  thought  or 
mine,  so  far  as  it  attains  to  a  strictly  scientific 
understanding  of  the  laws  of  this  world  of 
matter  and  motion,  and  of  the  thinker's  body 
in  its  true  relation  to  the  whole,  there  does 
not  seem  to  be  anything  special  to  you  or  to 
me,  unless  it  be  that  to  each  of  us  a  different 
bit  of  that  world,  namely  his  own  body,  must 
be  as  it  were  in  the  foreground.  Now  we 
must  observe  that  in  Spinoza's  age,  which 
was  the  age  of  Galileo  and  of  Newton  (who 
was  born  in  1642,  the  year  of  Galileo's  death), 
it  was  on  the  problems  of  mechanics  and 
physics  that  the  attention  of  scientific  students 
of  nature  was  concentrated;  and  it  is  just  in 
reference  to  these  that  individuality,  whether 
of  body  or  soul,  seems  to  be  of  least  account. 
The  biologist  cannot  treat  as  indifferent  the 
question  what  entitles  a  particular  organism, 
a  plant  or  an  animal,  to  be  considered  an 
individual  of  its  kind;  but  the  physicist  is 
not  concerned  with  the  distinction  between 
organisms  and  other  bodies,  only  with  the 
laws  of  motion  and  gravity,  to  which  all  bodies, 
organic  or  inorganic,  are  equally  subject.  So, 


DESCARTES  AND  HIS  SUCCESSORS    163 

too,  although  no  doubt  differences  between 
individual  minds  are  sufficiently  apparent  in 
the  capacity  to  discover  and  to  grasp  the 
truths  of  mathematics  and  mechanics,  yet 
the  truths  themselves  are  so  abstract  that 
when  they  are  once  discovered  and  grasped 
the  work  of  the  individual  discoverers  seems 
to  be  done.  These  results  become  common 
property  :  and  the  ordinary  student  of  them 
does  not  need  to  seek  them  in  the  works  of 
their  first  discoverers,  which  thus  come  to 
have  a  purely  historical  interest.  It  is  not 
so  with  the  work  of  poets  and  of  artists,  of 
moral  and  religious  teachers,  or  of  philosophers 
in  the  sense  in  which  we  are  using  the  word  in 
this  book.  The  substance  of  what  these  say 
cannot  be  so  separated  from  the  personality 
which  their  utterances  express  and  stated 
anew  as  to  make  it  unnecessary  to  seek  it  in 
the  works  of  those  who  said  it  first. 

This  is  true  among  others  of  Spinoza  him- 
self; but  his  ideal  of  knowledge  is  so  much 
that  of  the  mathematician  and  physicist 
that  it  is  no  wonder  it  should  have  caused 
the  contemporary  best  capable  of  under- 
standing his  philosophy  to  set  himself  so  to 
correct  its  chief  defect  as  to  do  justice  to 
that  plurality  of  individuals  which  seemed  in 
Spinoza's  system  to  be  in  danger  of  losing 
their  distinct  individualities  in  the  unity  of 
the  one  Substance.  This  was  the  German 


164    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

Gottfried  Wilhelm  Leibnitz  (1646-1716),  who 
thus  takes  up  again  that  question  of  the 
principle  of  individuality  to  which  the 
Schoolmen  had  devoted  so  much  of  their 
attention.  Although  Descartes  had  found  the 
bedrock  of  certainty  in  the  thinker's  indubi- 
table conviction  of  his  own  existence,  his 
interests,  like  Spinoza's,  were  so  concentrated 
on  mathematical  and  mechanical  problems 
that,  while  he  emphasized  to  the  full  the  dif- 
ference between  thought  and  extension,  mind 
and  matter,  he  did  not  dwell  on  the  difference 
between  one  individual  thinker  and  another ; 
and  what  he  says  of  his  own  existence  might 
as  well  be  said  of  any  individual  thinker's. 

A  greater  contrast  than  that  which  existed 
between  the  personal  character  and  circum- 
stances of  Spinoza  and  those  of  Leibnitz  can 
scarcely  be  imagined.  After  his  excommuni- 
cation for  heresy  at  the  age  of  twenty-four 
by  the  authorities  of  the  Jewish  synagogue  at 
Amsterdam,  Spinoza  remained  in  Holland, 
living  a  life  of  the  greatest  simplicity,  un- 
trammelled by  domestic  ties  or  official  duties, 
supporting  himself  by  the  grinding  of  lenses, 
and  refusing  any  offer  of  emolument  by  the 
acceptance  of  which  he  might  compromise  his 
independence.  Thus  he  could  devote  himself 
whole-heartedly  to  his  scientific  and  philo- 
sophical studies,  without  need  either  to  con- 
ceal his  opinions  or  to  engage  in  controversy. 


DESCARTES  AND  HIS  SUCCESSORS    165 

teibnitz,  on  the  other  hand,  was  a  courtier 
and  a  man  of  affairs,  with  whom  science  and 
philosophy  only  formed  a  part,  though  no 
doubt  the  chief  part,  of  his  activities.  He 
busied  himself  also  with  the  founding  of 
learned  societies,  with  attempts  to  reconcile 
the  Catholic  and  Protestant  Churches,  with 
the  history  of  the  princely  house  of  Hanover, 
in  whose  employment  he  was,  with  the  collec- 
tion of  treaties  and  other  documents  of  inter- 
national importance.  His  wide  knowledge 
of  the  history  of  opinions  led  him  to  the  view 
that  schools  and  sects  were  most  often  right 
in  their  affirmations  and  wrong  in  their 
denials,  and  so  to  desire  to  insist,  where  he 
could,  on  points  of  agreement  between  his 
own  theories  and  those  of  others.  In  this 
there  was  nothing  unworthy ;  but  it  laid  him 
open  to  the  temptation  of  slurring  over  the 
points  of  disagreement;  and  he  has  been 
reproached  with  a  cowardly  reticence  con- 
cerning the  extent  of  his  obligations  as  a 
philosopher  to  Spinoza,  who  enjoyed  an 
evil  reputation  among  the  majority  of  his 
contemporaries  as  an  enemy  of  religion. 

It  was  thus  the  nature  of  individuality  to 
which  Leibnitz  turned  his  attention.  Where 
was  true  individuality  to  be  found?  Not  in 
the  physical  atom,  though  the  word  "  atom  " 
means  in  Greek  what  "  individual  "  means  in 
Latin.  For,  although  there  might  be  particles 


166    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

of  matter  which  could  not  be  actually  divided, 
yet  they  must  be  extended  in  space  and  so 
have  parts,  even  if  no  force  exists  capable  of 
separating  these  parts  from  one  another. 
Nay,  these  parts  must  be  themselves  divisible, 
and  so  on  ad  infinitum  ;  and  one  cannot  hope 
to  come  to  real  individuality,  real  indivisible 
unity,  however  far  one  goes.  The  unity, 
therefore,  which  we  ascribe  to  any  material 
or  extended  thing,  from  the  universe,  which 
Spinoza  called  God  under  the  attribute  of 
extension,  down  to  the  smallest  imaginable 
particle,  is  not  really  in  that  thing  itself;  it 
is  only  in  the  mind  of  the  observer  to  whom 
what  is  in  truth  infinitely  many  happens  to 
look  one.  In  souls,  however,  which  are  not 
extended  in  space,  and  cannot  be  said,  except 
in  an  inexact  metaphorical  sense,  to  have 
parts,  we  find  a  more  genuine  sort  of  unity. 
Leibnitz,  therefore,  supposes  that  all  real 
individuals  have  a  unity  of  this  kind,  though 
it  is  only  some  among  them  that  we  call  by 
this  name.  Such  individuals — he  called  them 
all  "  monads,"  that  is  "  unities  " — are  the 
only  things  that  really  exist.  What  we  call 
bodies — material  or  extended  things — are 
proved  by  their  infinite  divisibility  not  to  be 
real;  for  you  can  never  come  to  any  real 
components  of  them;  there  are  no  physical 
"  atoms  "  or  indivisible  particles,  as  Demo- 
critus  in  antiquity  and  some  philosophers 


DESCARTES  AND  HIS  SUCCESSORS    167 

in  modern  times  had  supposed.  What  is 
material  or  extended  is  only  a  phenomenon 
or  appearance;  some  things  look  material 
or  extended,  but  are  not  really  so  in  them- 
selves. In  themselves,  they  have  the  same 
kind  of  unity  that  a  soul  has.  They  are  not 
always,  indeed,  conscious  of  themselves; 
but  neither,  after  all,  is  a  soul.  That  I 
think,  as  Descartes  said,  proves  that  I  exist ; 
but  when  I  am  not  thinking,  or  am  asleep 
and  dreaming,  or  even  in  a  dreamless  slumber, 
my  soul — that  in  me  which  thinks — does 
not  cease  to  exist.  If  it  did,  there  would  not 
be  the  continuity  which  there  is  between  my 
waking  and  my  sleeping  states.  I  should 
not  wake  at  the  sixth  stroke  of  a  clock  when 
the  first  five  had  failed  to  wake  me ;  I  should 
not  be  refreshed  for  renewed  thinking  after 
a  dreamless  sleep.  Leibnitz  believed  that 
there  were  always  what  he  called  "  little 
perceptions  "  going  on  in  our  souls  even  when 
we  are  not  what  we  call  conscious  at  all ;  and 
here  he  was  a  pioneer  in  calling  attention  to 
the  evidences  of  the  existence  of  a  mental  life 
"  below  the  threshold  of  consciousness,"  as 
the  modern  phrase  goes,  which  has  become  so 
important  in  modern  psychology. 

We  may  think,  then,  of  "  monads  "  which 
are  what  our  souls  would  be,  if  we  felt  but 
never  reasoned;  of  others  which  are  what 
our  souls  would  be,  if  we  were  always  asleep 


168    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

and  dreaming;  of  others  which  are  what 
our  souls  would  be,  if  they  were  always  in 
a  sleep  unbroken  by  dreams;  and  in  this 
way  can  understand  how  to  what  appear  to 
us  as  the  bodies  of  animals  and  of  plants,  and 
even  as  bodies  which  we  should  not  call  living 
bodies  at  all,  there  may  correspond  real  indi- 
vidual beings,  all  of  the  same  nature,  but  not  of 
the  same  capacity,  as  our  own  souls.  These 
monads  which  make  up  the  universe  are  not 
by  Leibnitz  regarded  as  being  acted  upon 
by  one  another;  for  this  would  impair  the 
perfect  independence  of  each,  and  we  should 
have  taken  a  step  in  the  direction  of  Spinoza's 
one  sole  independent  being  or  substance. 
Whatever  happens  to  each  monad  is,  on  the 
contrary,  the  necessary  outcome  of  its  own 
nature ;  at  every  moment  "  it  carries  its 
whole  future  in  its  womb."  This  complete 
mutual  independence  of  the  monads  is  ex- 
pressed by  saying  that "  they  have  no  windows 
by  which  anything  can  come  in  or  go  out." 
But  among  these  mutually  independent 
monads  there  exists  a  "  pre-established  har- 
mony " ;  the  development  of  each  so  corre- 
sponds with  that  of  every  other  as  to 
produce  the  appearance  of  an  intercommuni- 
cation between  them  which  does  not  really 
take  place.  The  relation  of  a  man's  soul 
to  his  body  (which  is  the  appearance  of  a 
number  of  monads  less  highly  developed 


DESCARTES  AND  HIS  SUCCESSORS    169 

than  his  soul)  is  a  particular  case  of  this 
harmony,  and  can  be  compared,  as  by  the 
Occasionalists,  to  the  relation  between  two 
clocks  wound  up  to  keep  time  together. 
Owing  to  the  "  pre-established  harmony," 
each  monad  may  be  said  to  reflect  the  whole 
universe  from  one  particular  point  of  view 
out  of  an  infinite  number,  from  every  one 
of  which  some  monad  reflects  it.  Such  is, 
in  outline,  the  theory  by  which  Leibnitz 
endeavours  not  only  to  reconcile  the  genuine 
individuality  of  human  souls  with  a  single 
universal  order,  but  to  find  at  every  point 
throughout  that  order  an  individuality  no 
less  genuine,  though  sometimes  less  highly 
developed,  than  that  which  we  know  to 
exist  in  ourselves. 

The  universal  order  or  harmony  itself 
Leibnitz  holds  to  be  chosen  by  God  (of  whom 
he  sometimes  speaks  as  of  a  supreme  Monad 
from  which  the  rest  proceed)  out  of  an  infinite 
number  of  possibilities  as  the  best  possible. 
For  Leibnitz  did  not  think  with  Spinoza  that 
philosophy  could  dispense  altogether  with 
"  final  causes."  Some  things  are  true  as 
matters  of  fact  which  cannot  be  shown  to  be 
mathematically  or  logically  necessary.  Yet 
it  would  be  to  give  up  the  very  presupposition 
of  philosophy  to  suppose  that  there  is  no 
reason  at  all  for  their  being  as  they  are. 
Leibnitz  thus  holds  that,  beside  the  principles 

F  2 


170    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

of  logic  and  mathematics,  there  is  a  "  principle 
of  sufficient  reason  "  according  to  which,  if 
our  knowledge  were  adequate  (which  it  often 
is  not),  we  could  show  that  what,  as  we  say, 
just  happens  to  be  thus,  is  better  thus  than 
otherwise.  The  constitution  of  the  actual 
world  is  a  matter  of  fact  which  cannot  be  shown 
to  be  logically  necessary.  It  must,  therefore,  be 
explained  as  due  to  the  choice  of  God.  When 
Leibnitz  calls  the  world  "  the  best  of  all  possible 
worlds  "  he  does  not  mean  that  everything  in  it 
is,  when  taken  by  itself,  as  good  as  we  can 
possibly  imagine  it  to  be,  but  only  that  what  is, 
taken  by  itself,  bad  could  not  have  been  better 
except  in  a  world  which  on  the  whole  would 
have  been  a  worse  world.  Thus,  moral  evil 
could  not  be  wholly  excluded  from  a  world 
where  there  were  free  agents ;  but  it  is  better 
that  there  should  be  free  agents  who  some- 
times do  wrong  than  that  there  should  be  no 
free  agents,  and  therefore  no  vice,  but  also 
no  virtue. 

The  expression,  however,  "  the  best  of  all 
possible  worlds,"  lent  itself  easily  to  ridicule, 
and  the  theory  that  this  world  was  such  was 
held  up  to  very  exquisite  ridicule  by  the  great 
French  wit,  Voltaire,  in  his  romance  called 
Candide  (1757).  Followed  by  the  most  en- 
lightened men  of  his  nation,  which  was  re- 
garded in  the  eighteenth  century  as  the  most 
cultivated  in  Europe,  Voltaire  turned  aside 


LOCKE  AND  HIS  SUCCESSORS    171 

from  the  philosophies  which,  like  those  we 
have  in  this  chapter  been  considering,  were 
confident  in  the  power  of  human  reason  to 
discover  from  its  own  resources  the  inner 
nature  of  reality,  to  an  English  philosopher, 
who,  with  a  humbler  estimate  of  the  capacity 
of  the  understanding,  had  not,  indeed,  pre- 
tended to  the  possession  of  such  great  intel- 
lectual wealth  as  his  French  and  German 
contemporaries,  but  had  a  more  assured 
enjoyment  of  the  modest  estate  which  was 
all  to  which  he  had  laid  claim.  This  philo- 
sopher was  John  Locke. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

LOCKE   AND   HIS   SUCCESSORS 

JOHN  LOCKE  (1632-1704),  in  his  Essay  con- 
cerning Human  Understanding  (1690),  followed 
Descartes,  whose  writings  first  "  gave  him 
a  relish  of  philosophical  things,"  in  think- 
ing of  matter  and  mind  as  two  sorts  of  sub- 
stances which  agreed  in  owing  their  being 
to  a  Deity  whose  existence  could  be  rationally 
demonstrated;  although  Locke  relies  less 
upon  the  "  ontological  argument "  of  Descartes 
as  a  proof  of  it,  than  upon  the  consideration 
that  since  something  cannot  be  conceived  to 
come  from  nothing,  something  must  have  existed 


172    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

from  eternity, "  powerful "  enough  and  "  know- 
ing "  enough  to  be  the  source  of  all  the  energy 
and  of  all  the  knowledge  that  we  actually  find 
in  the  world. 

But  Locke  is  less  concerned  than  Descartes 
with  those  difficulties  arising  from  the  ap- 
parently intimate  interaction  of  the  material 
and  spiritual  substances  in  ourselves  which 
had  led  the  Cartesians  to  Occasionalism.  In 
the  first  place,  he  is  not  so  firmly  convinced 
that  each  of  them  is  just  what  the  other  is 
not.  He  does  not  see  why  God  should  not, 
had  he  so  pleased,  have  endowed  matter  with 
the  power  of  thinking;  although  he  does  not 
consider  it  at  all  probable  that  what  thinks 
in  us  is  material.  He  does  not  question  that, 
in  perception,  our  minds  are  somehow  affected 
by  the  transmission  to  our  brains  of  motions 
set  up  by  the  contact  with  our  own  bodies 
external  to  them.  That  in  our  voluntary 
actions  thought  has  the  power  of  exciting 
motion  he  holds  to  be  undeniable,  although 
incomprehensible.  But  his  chief  divergence 
from  Descartes  is  in  his  doctrine  that  there 
are  no  "  innate  ideas,"  but  that  all  our 
knowledge  is  derived  from  experience. 

Experience,  he  says,  is  of  two  kinds  :  the 
one  being  sensation,  and  the  other  the  reflection 
of  the  mind  "  on  its  own  operations  within 
itself,"  which  may  be  called  an  "  internal 
sense."  Until  one  or  the  other  of  these  has 


LOCKE  AND  HIS  SUCCESSORS    173 

taken  place,  the  mind  is  like  a  sheet  of  blank 
paper  before  anything  has  been  written  upon 
it.  It  was  an  easy  task  for  Locke  to  show 
that  children  and  savages  are  not  from  the 
first  familiar  with  such  general  principles  of 
reasoning  as  that  it  is  impossible  for  the  same 
thing  at  once  to  be  and  not  to  be  this  or  that. 
But  few  of  those  who  have  defended  the 
existence  of  innate  principles  and  ideas  have 
meant  to  assert  this.  They  have  meant 
rather  that  the  "  principle  of  contradiction," 
for  instance  (though,  of  course,  not  expressed 
in  this  general  form),  is  yet  used  as  soon 
as  men  begin  to  reason  at  all.  As  a 
general  principle,  it  is  no  doubt  obtained 
from  reflection  on  the  "  operations  of  the 
mind  within  itself,"  which  is  one  of  the  two 
kinds  of  experience  recognized  by  Locke. 
But  the  operation  itself  must  take  place  in 
the  mind  before  it  can  be  thus  experienced. 
And  so  Leibnitz,  who  wrote  a  large  work 
(not  published  till  long  after  its  writer's 
death),  the  Nouveaux  Essais,  in  which  he 
criticized  Locke's  Essay  chapter  by  chapter, 
observed  that,  to  an  old  saying  with  which 
Locke  seemed  to  agree,  "  that  there  is  noth- 
ing in  the  understanding  which  was  not  first 
in  the  senses,"  one  exception  must  be  made, 
namely,  the  understanding  itself. 

But  whatever  be  the  case  with  our  know- 
ledge of  the  operations  of  our  minds,  is  not 


174    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

our  knowledge  of  the  material  world  wholly 
derived  from  experience  by  way  of  sensation  ? 
"  Sensations  "  are  counted  by  Locke  among 
"  ideas  " ;  and  an  "  idea  "  he  defines  (in 
words  nearly  the  same  with  those  which 
Descartes  had  used)  as  "  whatsoever  is  the 
object  of  the  mind  when  a  man  thinks." 
But,  although,  according  to  Locke,  "  ideas  " 
are  never  born  in  the  mind,  they  are  always 
perceived  by  the  mind  in  itself  ;  and  hence 
they  are  not  what  are  commonly  meant  by 
"  real  objects  " ;  on  the  contrary,  we  may 
ask  how  we  come  to  know  that  there  are 
"  real  objects  "  of  the  nature  of  bodies  beyond 
the  mind,  which  cause  "  ideas  of  sensation  " 
in  us,  and  of  whose  existence  and  nature  they 
inform  us.  Even  to  ask  these  questions, 
however,  we  must  have  already  in  us  (whether 
strictly  speaking,  born  in  us  or  no)  the  notions 
of  a  cause  and  of  bodies  existing  outside  of 
one  another  in  space.  Of  the  origin  of  such 
notions,  without  which  it  would  seem  im- 
possible to  obtain  from  our  sensations  any 
knowledge  of  an  external  world,  it  is  now 
very  generally  admitted  that  Locke  was  un- 
successful in  giving  a  consistent  account. 
Yet  he  had  no  intention  of  denying  the 
independent  existence  of  an  external  world : 
although,  like  Descartes,  he  held  our  know- 
ledge of  it  to  be  less  certain  than  the  intuitive 
knowledge  which  each  of  us  has  of  his  own 


LOCKE  AND  HIS  SUCCESSORS    175 

existence,  and  than  the  demonstrative  know- 
ledge we  all  may  have  of  God's.  He  shared 
the  view,  which  had  become  general  among  the 
thinkers  of  his  generation,  that  there  existed 
a  material  world,  really  possessed  of  the 
qualities  (such  as  extension,  shape,  motion), 
interesting  to  mathematical  and  mechanical 
science,  but  whose  apparent  qualities  of  colour, 
resonance,  taste,  and  the  like  were  no  more 
than  feelings  produced  in  minds  by  (or  on 
occasion  of)  the  action  of  the  real  bodies  upon 
our  organs  of  sense.  But  holding,  as  he  did, 
that  all  our  knowledge  of  the  material  world 
came  from  experience  in  the  form  of  sensa- 
tion, he  could  neither,  with  the  ancients, 
distinguish  the  reality  which  reason  could 
directly  apprehend  from  that  which  only 
appeared  to  the  senses,  nor  yet,  with  Descartes 
and  his  school,  distinguish  the  knowledge  due 
to  ideas  innate  in  the  mind  from  that  due  to 
ideas  afterwards  produced  in  it  consequently 
on  an  affection  of  the  bodily  organs.  He, 
therefore,  is  driven  to  distinguish  what  he 
called  the  "  primary  qualities  of  bodies," 
viz.,  those  susceptible  of  treatment  by 
mathematical  and  mechanical  science,  which 
he  enumerates  as  follows  :  solidity,  extension, 
figure,  motion  or  rest,  and  number — as  those 
of  our  ideas  which  are  resemblances  of  pat- 
terns existing  in  the  bodies  themselves,  from 
the  "  secondary  qualities  " — colours,  sounds, 


176    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

tastes,  and  the  like — our  ideas  of  which  have 
no  resemblance  at  all  to  what  causes  them 
in  the  bodies,  namely  the  bulk,  figure,  and 
motion — the  primary  qualities,  that  is — of  the 
minute  and  insensible  parts  of  those  bodies. 

We  may  here  call  to  mind  that  Bacon  had 
hoped  great  things  for  the  understanding 
and  conquest  of  nature  from  a  revival  of 
the  old  Atomists'  way  of  regarding  bodies 
as  composed  of  such  minute  and  insensible 
parts.  Such  a  revival  had  already  taken 
place  by  the  time  of  Locke  in  connexion 
with  the  attempts  to  explain  all  natural 
phenomena,  so  far  as  possible,  on  mechanical 
principles.  The  Frenchman  Pierre  Gassendi 
(1592-1655),  a  friend  of  Hobbes  and  Descartes, 
had  come  forward  as  the  restorer  of  the 
atomistic  philosophy  of  Epicureanism;  and 
the  Englishman  Ralph  Cudworth  (1617-1688), 
under  the  roof  of  whose  daughter,  Lady 
Masham,  Locke  died,  had  represented  atom- 
ism as  the  best  system  on  which  to  explain  all 
processes  not  involving  vital  phenomena; 
though  both  thinkers  had  denied  any  neces- 
sary connexion  between  atomism  and  the 
atheism  which  was  traditionally  associated 
with  it.  Hobbes  and  Descartes  also,  though, 
with  Bacon,  not  accepting  atomism  in  the 
strict  sense  of  the  word,  had  viewed  bodies 
as  composed  of  insensible,  though  not  in- 
trinsically indivisibk,  corpuscles  or  minute 


LOCKE  AND  HIS  SUCCESSORS    177 

bodies;  and  Locke's  close  friend,  the  great 
chemist  Robert  Boyle  (1627-1691),  had  shown 
the  practical  utility  of  such  a  theory  in  the 
investigation  of  natural  processes. 

It  was  Locke's  way  of  distinguishing  the 
primary  qualities  of  bodies  from  the  secondary 
that  exposed  him  (though  not  in  his  lifetime) 
to  the  criticism  of  George  Berkeley  (b.  1685, 
d.,  as  Bishop  of  Cloyne  in  Ireland,  1753). 

It  is  noticeable  that,  of  the  three  great 
British  philosophers  who,  as  we  shall  see, 
contributed  one  after  the  other  to  the  working 
out  to  its  consequences  of  the  theory  that  our 
knowledge  of  the  external  world  is  derived 
wholly  from  sensation,  the  English,  Irish, 
and  Scottish  nations  can  each  claim  one. 
Locke  was  a  typical  Englishman  in  his 
practical  good  sense,  his  modesty  in  specula- 
tion, his  neglect  of  system,  his  carelessness  of 
consistency,  his  avoidance  of  extremes.  His 
philosophical  work  is  of  a  piece  with  his 
public  career  as  the  friend  and  counsellor  of 
the  statesmen  to  whom  was  due  the  settle- 
ment of  1688,  which  established  monarchy  by 
a  parliamentary  title.  Berkeley,  though  not 
of  pure  Irish  descent,  was  no  bad  representa- 
tive of  his  native  country  in  his  personal 
brilliancy  and  charm  and  in  his  enthusiasm 
for  projects  less  practicable  than  attractive — 
such  as  the  foundation  of  a  great  missionary 
college  at  Bermuda  for  the  education  of  the 


178    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

children  of  the  planters  and  Indians  in  the 
American  colonies;  or,  later  in  his  life,  the 
curing  of  all  the  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to  by 
tar  water.  In  philosophy,  also,  he  was  less 
influenced  than  Locke  by  the  habits  of 
thought  prevalent  among  physicists  and 
chemists,  more  thoroughgoing  in  consistency 
with  himself;  less  chary  of  paradox,  more 
adventurous  in  speculation. 

Berkeley  followed  Locke  in  holding  that  all 
our  knowledge  of  what  we  call  the  external 
world  is  derived  from  "  ideas  of  sensation." 
But  he  did  not  see  what  need  there  was  to 
suppose  anything  in  the  way  of  a  material 
substance  beside  these  ideas,  such  as  Locke 
had  agreed  with  Descartes  and  most  other 
philosophers  in  holding  to  exist,  and  to  cause 
or  occasion  the  production  of  ideas  in  us.  Of 
such  a  substance,  it  seemed  to  Berkeley  that 
it  was  impossible  to  form  any  conception. 
It  was  not  supposed  to  be  something  which 
could  itself  be  perceived;  for  whatever  was 
perceived  was  an  idea,  and  this  was  held  to 
be  quite  different  in  its  nature  from  any  idea. 
Nor  was  it  something  which  could'  itself 
perceive,  like  our  own  minds.  Of  these 
Berkeley  allowed  that  we  have  a  notion, 
though  not,  properly  speaking,  an  idea.  For 
while  I  never  perceive  my  mind  itself,  as 
distinct  from  some  particular  feeling  or 
sensation  in  it,  yet  every  such  feeling  or 


LOCKE  AND  HIS  SUCCESSORS    179 

sensation  is  something  which  I  feel,  and  so 
I  am  aware  of  myself  along  with  every  idea 
I  have,  as  having  it.  But  the  "  material 
substance "  was  not  supposed  to  be  thus 
itself  conscious;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  just 
as  not  being  such  that  it  was  distinguished 
from  what  was  regarded  as  the  other  kind  of 
substance,  mind  or  spirit. 

What,  then,  are  we  to  suppose  it  to  be? 
Locke  had,  indeed,  said  that  it  was  something 
solid  or  consisting  of  solid  parts,  extended, 
figured,  capable  of  motion — but  not  coloured, 
or  resonant,  or  odorous.  But  how,  Berkeley 
asked,  could  we,  on  Locke's  own  showing, 
know  this  ?  How,  where  we  have  no  acquain- 
tance with  this  supposed  source  of  our  ideas 
except  by  means  of  them,  can  we  tell  that 
some  of  them  resemble  it,  and  others  do 
not?  Again,  it  is  supposed  to  be  something 
of  quite  a  different  nature  from  an  "  idea  " ; 
it  is  something  which  cannot  be  perceived 
except  by  means  of  an  "  idea,"  while  an 
"  idea  "  is  defined  as  what  can  be  perceived. 
How,  then,  can  an  idea  resemble  it  ?  Lastly, 
even  if  we  could  suppose  this  difficulty  got 
over,  and  imagine  the  substance  as  resembling 
our  idea  of  a  solid  extended  body,  could  we 
imagine  it  apart  from  some  such  qualities  as 
it  is  said  not  to  possess — from  colour,  if  we 
imagine  it  as  seen,  temperature  if  we  imagine 
it  as  touched  ? 


180    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

Berkeley's  conclusion  is  the  rejection  as  in- 
consistent with  Locke's  doctrine  that  we  only 
know  of  bodies  what  we  experience  of  them 
in  sensation,  of  the  doctrine,  in  which  Locke 
followed  other  philosophers,  that  there  existed 
independently  of  our  perceptions  a  "  material 
substance  "  which  caused  those  perceptions, 
but  was  not  itself  perceived.  Of  this  "  denial 
of  the  existence  of  matter,"  for  which  Berkeley 
became  famous,  we  are  told  by  Boswell  that 
Dr.  Johnson  said,  "  striking  his  foot  with 
mighty  force  against  a  large  stone,  till  he 
rebounded  from  it,  '  I  refute  it  thus  1 ' 
This,  however,  showed  a  misunderstanding  of 
Berkeley,  who  intended  to  deny  nothing  to 
which  the  senses  bear  witness,  but  only  the 
existence  of  something  imperceptible  by  the 
senses,  underlying  what  we  actually  perceive. 

In  saying  that  what  we  perceive  with  our 
senses  is  no  other  than  the  real  object  and  not 
something  else  which  represents  it,  Berkeley 
agrees  with  common  sense ;  but  when  he  goes 
on  to  pronounce  that  the  very  being  of  every- 
thing that  is  so  perceived  lies  in  being  per- 
ceived, we  are  at  once  disposed  to  ask  :  What, 
then,  becomes  of  it  when  it  is  not  being  per- 
ceived? Berkeley's  reply  would  be  that,  if 
it  is  not  being  perceived  by  any  conscious 
being  or  (as  he  says)  spirit,  it  cannot  exist, 
for,  if  we  ask  ourselves  what  we  really  mean 
by  its  existence,  we  shall  always  find  that 


LOCKE  AND  HIS   SUCCESSORS    181 

we  mean  its  existence  as  an  object  of  per- 
ception; and,  if  we  imagine  it  existing  un- 
perceived,  we  are  in  truth  only  imagining  it 
perceived  without  framing  an  idea  of  the 
person  perceiving  it.  Such  an  idea,  which 
we  frame  at  will,  is  what  we  call  an  idea  of 
imagination ;  but  there  are  many  ideas  which 
are  not  so  framed  at  will,  which  are  "  more 
strong,  lively,  and  distinct  "  than  these,  "  and 
which  have  a  steadiness,  order  and  coherence, 
and  are  not  excited  at  random,  as  those 
which  are  the  effects  of  human  wills  often  are, 
but  in  a  regular  train  or  series."  These  we 
call  "  ideas  of  sense." 

As  we  cannot  ourselves  produce  such  at 
will  in  ourselves  (and  still  less  in  other  beings 
like  ourselves),  and  as  the  supposition  of  an 
unthinking  or  unperceiving  "  material  sub- 
stance "  has  been  found  to  be  unintelligible, 
we  can  only  attribute  their  production  to  a 
thinking  being  or  Spirit  more  powerful  than 
ourselves,  whose  wisdom  and  benevofence  is 
sufficiently  proved  by  the  "  admirable  con- 
nexion "  of  these  ideas  according  to  what  we 
call  the  laws  of  nature.  We  cannot,  indeed, 
discover  any  necessity  in  this  connexion, 
"  without  which  we  should  all  be  in  un- 
certainty and  confusion,  and  a  grown  man  no 
more  know  how  to  manage  himself  in  the 
affairs  of  life  than  an  infant  just  born."  It 
is  only  by  experience  that  we  learn  what  it 


182    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

is ;  and  it  is  only  by  a  convenient  looseness  of 
language  that  we  describe  it  by  calling  one 
idea  the  cause  of  another — fire,  for  example, 
of  warmth.  An  idea  is  nothing  but  a  per- 
ception; it  is  meaningless  to  attribute  to  it 
power  or  activity.  The  only  active  beings 
we  have  any  reason  to  suppose  exist  are 
spirits.  We  are  spirits,  and  in  a  measure 
active,  as  our  power  of  forming  ideas  of 
imagination  shows;  and  it  is  reasonable  to 
suppose  ideas  of  sense  produced  in  us  by  a 
being  of  like  but  higher  nature.  These  ideas 
of  sense  (which  constitute  what  we  call  the 
external  world)  may  thus  be  regarded  as 
words  of  a  "  divine  language  "  by  which  this 
greater  Spirit  communicates  with  ourselves. 

Without  stopping  to  inquire  whether  there 
may  not  be  some  weak  places  in  this  reason- 
ing, we  must  now  point  out  that  to  Berkeley 
the  principle  of  Locke  that  all  our  knowledge 
of  bodies  comes  through  sensation  was  welcome 
because,  as  we  have  seen,  he  held  that,  when 
more  consistently  worked  out  than  it  had  been 
by  Locke  himself,  it  removed  all  ground  for 
belief  in  a  material  substance,  existing  on  its 
own  account  in  independence  of  a  mind  per- 
ceiving it.  If,  however,  we  have  no  ground 
for  such  a  belief,  we  shall  not  attribute  the 
order  and  system  which  we  observe  in  our 
experience  to  any  necessary  connexion  be- 
tween the  parts  or  movements  of  such  a 


LOCKE  AND  HIS  SUCCESSORS    183 

substance,  but  rather  to  the  only  principle 
of  order  whereof  we  have  any  direct  know- 
ledge, namely,  the  will  of  an  intelligent  being. 
The  tendency,  which  Berkeley  observed  pre- 
valent in  his  day,  to  dispense  with  a  God  or 
at  least,  with  Spinoza,  to  conceive  his  nature 
as  capable  of  being  expressed  in  terms  of  a 
material  system,  could  thus  be  shown  not 
only  to  be  no  necessary  inference  from  the 
fashionable  philosophy  of  Locke  (who,  indeed, 
had  not  drawn  it  himself),  but  to  be  actually 
inconsistent  with  that  philosophy. 

But  Berkeley  was  to  be  treated  in  his  turn 
as  he  had  treated  Locke — by  David  Hume 
(1711-1776),  famous  for  his  History  of  England 
as  well  as  for  his  philosophy,  the  Scotsman 
of  the  triad  of  British  thinkers  mentioned 
above.  There  was,  perhaps,  in  Locke  too 
much  of  the  English  lover  of  compromise,  in 
Berkeley  too  much  of  the  Irish  visionary,  to 
fit  either  the  one  or  the  other  for  the  work 
which  the  acute  intellect  and  sober  tem- 
perament of  their  Scottish  follower  was  to 
accomplish  in  bringing  to  light  the  extreme 
issues  of  the  sensationalist  theory  of  know- 
ledge propounded  by  Locke.  This  he  did  in 
his  Treatise  of  Human  Nature,  which  "  fell 
dead  born  from  the  press  "  in  1739. 

In  this  work,  he  observed  that  arguments 
of  the  same  kind  as  those  by  which  Berkeley 
had  proved  the  assumption  of  a  "  material 


184    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

substance "  distinct  from  our  ideas  to  be 
needless  and  unintelligible,  might  be  turned 
also  against  the  "  spiritual  substance  "  which 
Berkeley  had  retained.  For  what  do  we  know 
of  this  either,  except  the  perceptions  which 
it  is  said  to  "  have  "  ?  And  if  (with  Berkeley) 
we  do  not  distinguish  the  things  which  we 
perceive  from  the  perceptions  themselves, 
does  the  theory  that  the  "  ideas  "  (and  there- 
fore the  "  things ")  are  modifications  of  a 
spiritual  substance,  that  of  the  soul,  differ 
greatly  from  the  "  hideous  hypothesis "  of 
Spinoza  that  all  things  are  modifications  of 
one  substance?  Yet  this  hypothesis  is  exe- 
crated by  the  very  people  who  are  ready  to 
accept  the  kindred  doctrine  of  a  substantial 
soul.  In  truth,  we  know  of  nothing  entitled, 
as  existing  on  its  own  account,  to  be  called 
"  substance  "  except  individual  perceptions. 
The  connexion  between  these  is  (as  Berkeley 
had  said)  purely  arbitrary,  and  can  only  be 
learned  from  experience.  Hume  did  not 
follow  Berkeley,  however,  in  thinking  that 
this  connexion  could  be  made  more  intelligible 
by  ascribing  it  to  the  will  of  God;  for  the 
will,  in  his  judgment,  "  has  no  more  a  dis- 
coverable connexion  with  its  effects  than  any 
material  cause."  The  only  discoverable  con- 
nexion of  any  cause  with  its  effect  is  that 
which  consists  in  the  perception  (Hume  calls 
it  "  impression  ")  or  idea  of  one  object  deter- 


LOCKE  AND  HIS  SUCCESSORS    185 

mining  us  to  form  the  idea  of  another,  in 
consequence  of  a  constant  experience  in  which 
the  perception  or  impression  of  the  latter  has 
been  invariably  found  to  follow  on  that  of 
the  former. 

The  upshot  of  Hume's  discussions  is  a 
complete  scepticism.  Locke's  denial  that 
there  can  be  any  knowledge  except  what 
comes  from  experience  gained  by  way  of 
separate  perceptions  (for  the  "  ideas  of  re- 
flection "  are  described  as  if  they  were 
separate  perceptions  of  an  internal  sense) 
turns  out  in  the  long  run  to  leave  no  room 
for  anything  to  bind  together  these  separate 
perceptions  into  a  single  experience  or  world — 
no  innate  ideas,  no  external  world,  no  mind 
or  soul.  The  perceptions  are,  indeed,  asso- 
ciated together ;  but  such  association  is  mere 
matter  of  fact.  The  necessity  which  seems 
to  belong  to  some  connexions  is  only  a  habit 
of  ours,  not  any  quality  of  things  independently 
of  our  perception.  When  Hume,  some  years 
later,  published  an  Enquiry  concerning  Human 
Understanding  in  a  series  of  essays,  in  which 
his  philosophical  views  were  expressed  less 
trenchantly  and  in  a  less  continuous  and 
concentrated  form  than  in  the  Treatise,  he 
omitted  his  explicit  reasonings  against  the 
doctrine  of  a  substantial  soul.  This  was 
partly  done,  no  doubt,  in  order  to  secure  a 
better  hearing ;  but  he  may  also  himself  have 


186    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

felt  uneasy  about  a  denial  which  it  was 
impossible  not  to  seem  to  contradict  at  every 
other  word  by  speaking  of  "  we,"  of  "  the 
mind,"  of  "  the  understanding."  Was  not 
Descartes  perhaps  right  in  saying  we  could 
not  doubt  the  existence  of  the  self  that 
doubts  ?  But  while  leaving  in  the  background 
in  his  Enquiry  what  might  appear  the  most 
extravagant  detail  of  his  scepticism,  Hume 
comes  forward  still  as  a  defender  of  "  the 
Academical  or  sceptical  philosophy." 


CHAPTER  IX 

KANT  AND   HIS   CONTEMPORARIES 

THE  little  space  at  our  disposal  makes  it 
impossible  to  find  room  for  an  account  of 
Thomas  Reid  (1710-1796)  and  others  of 
Hume's  fellow-Scotsmen,  who  endeavoured 
to  meet  their  countryman's  scepticism  by 
going  back  to  the  reassertion,  under  the 
name  of  "  principles  of  common  sense  "  of 
those  "  innate  ideas  "  the  existence  of  which 
Descartes  had  affirmed,  but  Locke,  followed 
by  Berkeley  and  Hume,  had  denied. 

We  must  pass  at  once  to  the  great  German 
thinker,  Immanuel  Kant  (born  1724,  and  from 
1755  to  his  death  in  1804  a  teacher  in  the 
Prussian  University  of  Konigsberg) — himself, 


KANT  AND  HIS  CONTEMPORARIES    187 

on  the  father's  side,  of  Scotch  descent— who, 
according  to  his  own  statement,  was  "  waked 
from  a  dogmatic  slumber  "  by  the  study  of 
Hume,  and  found  nothing  in  the  "  principles 
of  common  sense  "  to  reassure  him  in  going 
to  sleep  again.     By  a  "  dogmatic  slumber," 
Kant  meant  an  acquiescence  in  a  kind  of 
philosophy  which,  like  that  of  Christian  Wolff 
(1697-1754) — who  had  reduced  the  teaching 
of  Leibnitz,  though  not  quite  without  altera- 
tion, to  a  systematic  form — did  not  question 
the  competence  of  the  understanding  to  appre- 
hend the  nature  of  things  as  they  really  are 
in  themselves.     The  doubt  which  Hume  had 
thrown  upon  this  competence,  by  his  denial 
that  the  connexion  between  cause  and  effect, 
which   the    natural    sciences    made   it    their 
business  to  trace  everywhere  in  the  external 
world,   was   anything   more   than   a   mental 
habit  of  ours — this  doubt  made  it,  to  Kant's 
mind,    imperative    that    philosophy    should 
cease  to  be   dogmatic,   and   become   critical. 
By  this  he  meant  that,  before  dogmatically 
pronouncing  what  is  true  and  what  is  not, 
it   must   examine   our   intellectual   faculties, 
and  see  how  far  they  are  qualified  to  apprehend 
the  real  nature  of  things.     His  own  philosophy 
was  thus  dubbed  by  himself  a  critical  philo- 
sophy ;  and  he  gave  to  each  of  his  three  chief 
works  the  title  of  a  Critique  or  Criticism  of 
some  intellectual  faculty. 


188    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

The  first  of  these,  which  appeared  in  1781, 
was  a  Critique  of  Pure  Reason.  In  this,  Kant 
believed  himself  to  have  effected  a  revolution 
in  philosophy  comparable  to  that  effected  by 
Copernicus  in  astronomy.  Just  as  the  motions 
of  the  heavenly  bodies  are  explained  by 
Copernicus  as  appearances  due  to  our  position 
on  a  moving  earth,  so,  according  to  Kant, 
the  position  and  extension  of  things  in  space, 
and  the  succession  (or  simultaneousness)  of 
events  in  time,  are  only  phenomena  or  appear- 
ances, due  to  the  peculiar  constitution  of  our 
faculties  of  perception.  Thus,  as  the  relation 
of  cause  and  effect  can  only  be  supposed  to 
exist  where  there  is  a  succession,  which  is  then 
interpreted  as  no  casual  succession,  but  a 
necessary  one,  Hume  was  right  in  his  theory 
that  the  relation  in  question  depends  upon  the 
nature  of  the  mind,  and  not  upon  the  nature 
of  things  as  they  are  in  themselves  apart 
altogether  from  the  mind  which  perceives 
them  and  reflects  upon  them.  But  this 
theory  ought  no  more  to  lead  to  scepticism 
in  philosophy  than  Copernicanism  to  scepti- 
cism in  astronomy.  It  ought  only  to  lead  to  a 
recognition  of  the  inevitable  limitations  im- 
posed by  the  nature  of  our  faculties  upon  our 
knowledge  of  a  reality,  whose  independent 
existence,  however,  we  need  not  doubt,  since,  if 
it  did  not  exist,  it  could  not  appear  to  us  at  all. 

With  Hume,  indeed,  it  had  led  to  scepti- 


KANT  AND  HIS  CONTEMPORARIES    189 

cism ;  but  this  was  because  he  supposed  the 
part  played  by  the  mind  in  the  acquisition 
of  knowledge  to  be  merely  that  of  a  passive 
recipient  of  "  impressions,"  so  that  nothing 
which  it  did  itself  could  contribute  anything 
to  knowledge.  Kant,  on  the  other  hand, 
held  that  the  facts  of  mathematical  reasoning 
alone  were  sufficient  to  show  that  the  mind 
could  produce  genuine  knowledge  from  its 
own  resources.  Counting,  or  the  construction 
of  imaginary  figures,  is  the  only  possible  way 
of  arriving  at  results  which  are  admitted  to 
be  both  exactly  and  universally  true.  This 
they  could  not  be  were  they  reached  from 
experience  by  means  of  the  senses.  For  any 
perceptible  things  we  might  count  could  never 
be  exactly  equal  to  one  another;  no  lines 
drawn  on  paper  would  be  perfectly  straight. 
And  even  if  they  were,  how  could  we  be  so 
sure,  as  we  are  about  our  mathematical  con- 
clusions, that  they  will  hold  in  all  cases,  not 
only  in  those  now  before  us  ?  Moreover,  not 
only  can  the  mind  thus  produce  genuine  know- 
ledge from  its  own  resources,  but  this  know- 
ledge, concerning  as  it  does  the  very  nature 
of  space  and  also  of  time  (to  speak  of  which 
and  say  :  This  happened  before,  after,  or  at 
the  same  time  as  that,  we  must  be  able  to 
count),  is  not  a  knowledge  quite  apart  from 
our  knowledge  of  the  world  of  things  and 
events.  All  things  which  we  perceive  with 


190    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

our  senses  are  in  space,  all  events,  including 
our  own  acts  of  perception  and  thought,  are 
in  time.  Hence,  there  can  be  no  knowledge 
of  the  world  of  things  and  events  which  does 
not  involve  a  knowledge  which  is  produced 
by  the  mind  from  its  own  resources,  or,  as 
Kant  put  it,  is  a  priori. 

It  was  not  wonderful  that  contemporaries 
of  Kant  should  confound  his  doctrine  that 
the  bodies  which  we  perceive  are  only  pheno- 
mena with  Berkeley's  that  they  are  our  ideas  ; 
and,  in  a  second  edition  of  the  Critique  of  Pure 
Reason  (1787),  Kant  set  himself  to  explain  the 
difference.  This  he  took  to  be  that,  while  his 
own  was  a  "  critical  "  philosophy,  according 
to  which  we  perceive  things  not  as  they  are 
in  themselves,  but  only  as  they  appear  to  us, 
and  so  only  phenomena,  Berkeley's  was  a 
*'  dogmatic  "  philosophy,  which  asserted  that 
the  things  we  perceive  are  in  themselves  just 
what  we  perceive.  Moreover,  Berkeley  seemed 
to  Kant  to  treat  the  perceiving  mind  as  real, 
while  treating  the  things  perceived  as  only 
ideas  in  that  mind.  To  Kant,  the  things  per- 
ceived were  no  less  real  than  the  perceiving 
mind,  of  which  we  only  become  aware  through 
its  perception  of  them;  within  experience, 
what  perceives  and  what  is  perceived  are 
both  alike  real;  but  what  either  that  which 
is  the  act  of  perception  appears  to  us  as  the 
perceiving  mind,  or  that  which  appears  to  us 


KANT  AND  HIS  CONTEMPORARIES    191 

as  things  perceived,  may  be  in  themselves, 
we  do  not  and  cannot  know.  This,  in  Kant's 
technical  language,  is  expressed  by  saying 
that  the  external  world  is  empirically  real — 
as  real  as  anything  else  in  experience — but 
"  transcendentally  " — that  is,  outside  of  ex- 
perience— "  ideal  " — that  is,  not  real. 

Perception  then,  by  means  of  the  senses,  is, 
in  Kant's  view,  perception  of  objects  which, 
being  already  in  space  and  time,  are  pheno- 
mena, appearances  of  things,  not  things  as 
they  are  in  themselves.  But,  holding  this, 
Kant  might  have  held,  like  Plato,  that  the 
understanding  (though  not  perception)  was 
conversant  with  realities;  the  more  so,  as  he 
did  not  agree  with  Locke  in  finding  nothing 
in  the  understanding  but  what  had  come  into 
it  through  perception  by  the  senses,  nor  with 
Leibnitz  in  holding  perception  by  the  senses 
to  be  nothing  but  a  confused  sort  of  under- 
standing. Kant's  view  was,  however,  that 
the  two  faculties,  though  quite  distinct — so 
that  one  could  not  conceive  of  the  one  as  a 
form  or  modification  of  the  other — yet  were 
so  mutually  interdependent  that  neither  per- 
ception without  understanding  nor  under- 
standing without  perception  could  yield  us 
any  knowledge.  Without  understanding,  per- 
ception would  make  nothing  of  what  was 
perceived ;  without  perception,  understanding 
would  have  nothing  to  understand. 


192    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

Thus,  if  we  take  the  notion  of  cause,  Hume's 
discussion  of  which  had  so  great  an  influence 
on  Kant,  there  is,  as  Hume  has  shown,  no 
"  impression "  or  perception  of  causation, 
distinct  from  those  of  the  two  objects  which 
in  a  particular  case  we  call  "  cause "  and 
"  effect "  respectively.  The  notion  of  such 
a  relation  between  two  objects,  therefore, 
since  it  is  not  derived  from  a  separate  per- 
ception, must,  according  to  both  Hume  and 
Kant,  be  supplied  by  the  mind — though,  for 
Kant,  this  does  not  mean  that  it  is  inapplicable 
to  objects,  since  all  objects,  so  far  as  they  are 
in  space  and  time,  are  themselves  the  result 
of  the  mind's  activity.  Such  notions  as  that 
of  "  cause,"  without  the  use  of  which  we 
cannot  understand  what  we  perceive,  Kant 
calls  a  "  notion  of  the  understanding  "  or  a 
44  category."  They  originate  in  the  under- 
standing, but  are  applicable  to  perceived 
objects;  nay  (and  this  is  what  Kant  is  espe- 
cially concerned  to  insist  upon),  they  are 
only  applicable  to  such.  This  renders  it  idle, 
for  example,  to  raise  questions  about  a 
44  first  cause  "  with  nothing  outside  of  itself 
or  prior  to  itself;  for  such  a  cause  could 
never  be  perceived  as  an  object  in  space  or 
time.  Every  object  in  space  must  have 
something  outside  of  it,  every  event  in  time 
something  before  it;  and  to  nothing  which 
cannot  be  perceived  as  such  an  object  has  a 


KANT  AND  HIS  CONTEMPORARIES    193 

notion  like  that  of  cause  any  possible  applica- 
tion. We  may,  indeed,  speak  intelligibly  of 
causes  which  are  not  as  a  matter  of  fact 
perceived  (like  the  movements  of  an  undis- 
covered planet,  or  an  undetected  bacillus), 
but  not  of  causes  which  (like  the  agency  of  a 
spirit)  could  not  under  any  circumstances  be 
perceived  by  the  senses. 

But  Kant  recognizes  that  the  human  mind 
is  never  content  to  confine  its  speculations  to 
the  sphere  within  which  the  results  can  be 
verified  by  the  senses.  It  is  true  that,  when 
we  suppose  ourselves  able  by  such  specula- 
tions to  reach  knowledge  about  things  as  they 
are  in  themselves,  we  always  find  ourselves  at 
a  loss,  puzzled  by  the  seeming  cogency  of 
mutually  contradictory  arguments;  for  ex- 
ample, it  is  equally  easy  to  give  good  reasons 
to  prove  that  the  world  cannot  have  had  a 
beginning,  and  to  prove  that  it  cannot  but 
have  had  one.  This  shows  that  notions  which, 
so  long  as  we  remain  within  the  region  of  a 
"  possible  experience,"  we  may  be  sure  will 
help  us  to  increase  our  knowledge  (for  we 
shall  not  go  wrong  in  seeking  for  a  cause  of 
every  phenomenon  in  some  other  pheno- 
menon), will  fail  us  so  soon  as  we  pass  beyond 
this  region.  Yet  how  could  we  go  on,  as  we 
do  in  the  natural  sciences,  seeking  for  a  cause 
of  every  event,  and  then  for  a  cause  of  that 
again,  and  so  on  for  ever,  if  we  did  not  all 
G 


194    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

the  while  think  we  were  at  something  better 
worth  doing  than  asking  a  riddle  for  the 
solution  of  which  one  would  always  be  passed 
on  to  some  one  else,  without  hope  of  arriving 
at  the  real  answer  ?  Are  we  not  all  the  while 
sure  that  there  is  an  all-embracing  system, 
which  must  somehow  exist  as  a  whole,  with 
a  definite  nature  of  its  own  that  we  are 
engaged  in  gradually  tracing  out  ? — although 
we  cannot,  it  is  true,  picture  it  to  ourselves, 
because,  as  pictured,  it  would  be  only  some- 
thing in  the  world,  and  not  the  world  itself. 

The  thought  of  such  a  system  or  world, 
then,  is,  in  Kant's  phraseology,  a  "  regulative 
idea  "  and  not  a  "  constitutive  notion,"  that 
is,  it  directs  our  minds  in  their  progressive 
attainment  of  knowledge,  but  does  not  add 
new  facts  to  the  knowledge  attained.  Kant 
deplored  the  modern  degradation  of  the  word 
"  idea  "  to  mean  any  kind  of  object  that  the 
mind  might  have  before  it,  and  conceived 
himself  to  be  returning  to  a  use  of  it  more 
like  Plato's  own,  in  using  it  to  denote  such 
conceptions  as  that  just  described,  concep- 
tions of  something  more  complete  and  satis- 
factory than  anything  which  experience  can 
show.  In  their  completeness,  and  in  their 
superiority  to  the  objects  of  perception  by 
the  senses,  Kant  makes  his  Ideas  really  like 
Plato's;  but  he  makes  them  very  unlike 
when  he  says  that,  just  because  they  cannot 


KANT  AND  HIS  CONTEMPORARIES   195 

be  perceived  by  the  senses,  they  have  no 
right  to  be  regarded  as  real  objects  or  as 
representatives  of  such,  but  merely  as  "  ideas." 
Yet  the  reason  cannot  help  forming  these 
"  ideas  "  (when  our  mind  goes  beyond  under- 
standing what  we  perceive  with  the  senses, 
and  speculates  on  the  nature  of  reality  as  a 
whole,  Kant  calls  it  "  reason "  instead  of 
"understanding");  and  if  it  did  not,  our 
understanding  would  lack  the  perpetual  spur 
to  activity  provided  by  a  goal  towards  which 
it  can  ever  advance,  but  can  never  reach. 

Of  such  "  Ideas,"  Kant  recognizes  three ; 
that  of  a  first  cause,  the  ever-receding  goal 
of  the  science  of  nature;  that  of  a  sub- 
stantial soul,  the  ever-receding  goal  of  the 
science  of  mind,  which  has  always  before 
it  only  some  particular  conscious  state  of 
mind;  and  that  of  an  all-embracing  reality, 
the  ever-receding  goal  of  philosophy,  which, 
even  in  the  extremest  contrariety,  such 
as  that,  emphasized  by  Descartes,  between 
thought  and  extension,  seeks  a  yet  more 
fundamental  unity,  to  which  both  Descartes 
and  Kant  give  the  name  of  God.  The  exist- 
ence of  God,  of  the  Soul,  and  of  a  first  cause 
or  original  event,  such  as  is  implied  not  only 
in  a  creation  of  the  world,  but  (what  touches 
us  more  nearly)  in  any  free  action,  such  as  I 
can  call  in  a  genuine  sense  "  my  own  " — all 
these  are  thus  by  Kant  declared  to  be  problems 


196    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

which  our  reason,  in  virtue  of  its  own  nature, 
cannot  but  raise,  but  is,  also  in  virtue  of  its 
own  nature,  incapable  of  solving.  This  does 
away  with  the  possibility  of  such  proofs 
as  many  had  alleged  for  the  existence  of 
God. 

All  these  to  Kant  seemed  ultimately  to 
rest  upon  one,  the  Ontological  Argument 
already  mentioned.  This  Kant  is  especially 
concerned  to  demolish.  For  it  is  the  con- 
centrated expression  of  confidence  in  the 
power  of  thought  to  apprehend  reality  as 
it  is  in  itself.  It  is  thus  the  very  citadel  of 
the  "  dogmatic  "  philosophy  for  which  Kant 
wished  to  substitute  a  "  critical."  That  we 
cannot  think  a  thing  to  be  otherwise  is  for 
Kant  no  guarantee  that  the  thing  is  thus 
apart  from  our  thinking :  for  we  have  no 
reason  to  suppose  that  things  are  in  them- 
selves as  they,  owing  to  the  constitution  of 
our  faculties,  must  appear  to  us  as  being  : 
rather,  if  they  were,  it  would  be  a  strange 
coincidence.  But,  if  all  proofs  of  the  exist- 
ence of  God,  of  an  immortal  soul,  and  of  the 
freedom  of  the  will  are  necessarily  fallacious, 
no  less  must  all  disproofs  be  so :  and  these 
chief  articles,  as  they  were  considered  in 
Kant's  time  to  be,  of  Natural  Religion  can  be 
removed  altogether  from  the  sphere  of  know- 
ledge to  that  of  faith.  By  "faith"  Kant 
understood  a  holding  of  something  for  true 


KANT  AND  HIS  CONTEMPORARIES    197 

on  grounds  sufficient  to  act  upon  but  not 
fully  to  satisfy  one's  intelligence.  To  under- 
stand why  Kant  thought  that  these  were 
grounds  sufficient  to  act  upon  for  holding  it 
true  that  there  was  a  God,  that  we  are  free 
agents,  and  that  our  souls  do  not  perish  at 
death,  we  must  turn  from  his  theory  of  know- 
ledge to  his  theory  of  action  or  conduct. 

To  the  Critique  of  Pure  Reason,  Kant  added 
(in  1788)  a  Critique  of  Practical  Reason.  This 
dealt  with  the  human  will,  as  the  former 
Critique  with  human  perception  and  under- 
standing. Human  will  is,  according  to  Kant, 
"  practical  reason  " ;  for,  so  far  as  it  is  char- 
acteristically human,  and  not,  like  an  animal's, 
merely  instinctive,  it  always  wills  to  do  some- 
thing for  a  reason,  with  some  end  in  view. 
Every  considered  action,  in  being  considered, 
is  brought  into  connexion  with  some  general 
scheme  of  conduct,  whether  as  forwarding 
one's  business,  or  as  contributing  to  one's 
happiness,  or  as  part  of  one's  duty.  In  this 
last  case,  what  is  willed  must,  in  Kant's  view, 
be  willed  disinterestedly.  It  is  the  dis- 
tinguishing mark  of  a  morally  good  action 
that  it  is  done  not  because  it  is  pleasant  to 
the  doer,  nor  because  it  conduces  to  his  profit 
in  any  way,  but  only  because  it  is  right,  in 
obedience  (to  use  Kant's  technical  expres- 
sion) to  a  "  categorical  imperative,"  that  is, 
to  a  law  which  commands  not  hypothetically — 


198    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

"  if  you  would  avoid  this  " ;  "  if  you  would 
have  that  " — but  unconditionally. 

Upon  nothing  does  Kant  insist  more  strongly 
than  upon  this  unconditionally  obligatory 
character  of  all  genuine  morality.  Although 
implied,  he  thought,  in  the  judgments  of  the 
unsophisticated  conscience,  he  did  not  find  it 
clearly  understood  by  most  writers  on  moral 
philosophy.  There  had  been,  during  the 
seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries,  a  great 
output  of  books  on  moral  philosophy,  espe- 
cially in  England.  The  impetus  to  this  had 
been  given  by  the  desire  to  refute  the  teaching 
of  Hobbes,  which  was  generally  (though,  per- 
haps, not  quite  correctly)  understood  to  make 
morality  a  matter  of  arbitrary  enactment  by 
the  State.  Some  of  his  opponents,  particu- 
larly the  Ralph  Cudworth  already  mentioned 
and  Samuel  Clarke  (1675-1729),  a  friend  of 
Newton  and  correspondent  of  Leibnitz,  in- 
sisted that  the  truths  of  morality  were  no 
more  dependent  on  the  mere  will  of  God  or 
man  than  those  of  mathematics.  Others — 
as  the  third  Earl  of  Shaftesbury  (1671-1713), 
a  pupil  of  Locke's,  who  did  not  agree  with 
his  tutor  in  rejecting  "  innate  ideas,"  and 
Francis  Hutcheson  (1694-1747),  a  Scottish 
professor — dwelt  rather  upon  the  presence  of 
a  natural  capacity  to  discriminate  by  a  kind 
of  inward  taste  between  the  morally  good  and 
bad,  as  between  the  beautiful  and  the  ugly. 


KANT  AND  HIS  CONTEMPORARIES    199 

Hume,  while  agreeing  with  Shaftesbury  and 
Hutcheson  that  our  moral  judgments  depend 
upon  sentiment  and  not  upon  reason,  explained 
the  sentiment  itself  as  arising  from  the  satis- 
faction felt  in  the  contemplation  of  actions 
which  are  useful,  not  to  the  agent  only,  but 
to  others  or  to  all  men.  In  a  like  spirit,  his 
friend  Adam  Smith,  the  founder  of  modern 
political  economy  (1723-1790),  saw  in  our 
judgments  that  we  ought  to  do  or  not  to  do 
this  or  that  the  result  of  sympathy  with  what 
would  be  our  feelings  were  we  impartial 
spectators  of  such  an  action  in  the  case  of 
another  person. 

In  all  such  views,  Kant  missed  a  due  recog- 
nition of  what  he  was  convinced  was  the  true 
characteristic  of  a  moral  judgment,  namely 
the  consciousness  expressed  in  it  of  an  uncon- 
ditional obligation.  With  the  writings  of  the 
British  moralist  of  the  preceding  generation 
whose  conception  of  morality  was  nearest 
akin  to  his  own,  the  great  theologian  Joseph 
Butler  (b.  1692,  d.,  as  Bishop  of  Durham, 
1752),  he  does  not  seem  to  have  been  ac- 
quainted; but,  if  he  had  been,  he  would 
certainly  have  held  that  even  Butler  had  gone 
astray  when,  despite  his  insistence  on  the 
"  manifest  authority  "  of  conscience,  he  yet 
set  "  reasonable  self-love  "  by  its  side  as  a 
motive  to  action  of  co-ordinate  rank  with  it. 
In  some  ways,  a  closer  approximation  to 


200    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

Kant's  views  on  morality  is  found  in  the  work 
of  his  contemporary  Richard  Price  (1723- 
1791),  an  English  dissenting  minister,  whose 
publicly  expressed  sympathy  with  the  begin- 
nings of  the  French  Revolution  in  1789  called 
forth  by  way  of  reply  Edmund  Burke's 
famous  Reflections  on  the  Revolution  in  France. 
Probably  Kant  knew  nothing  of  Price,  who, 
indeed,  like  other  British  moralists,  was  far 
less  consistent  than  Kant  himself  in  allowing 
no  motive  but  that  of  unconditional  obligation 
to  be  consistent  with  a  genuine  morality.  He 
was  of  one  mind  with  Kant  in  making  morality 
a  matter  of  reason,  rather  than,  with  Hume 
and  Adam  Smith,  of  sentiment.  So  far  he 
was  a  follower  of  his  countrymen  Cudworth 
and  Clarke;  but  we  find  him  also  drawing  a 
distinction  between  the  "  speculative  "  and 
"  moral "  aspects  of  understanding,  which 
anticipates  one  of  great  importance  in  Kant's 
moral  philosophy  between  "  theoretical  "  and 
"  practical  "  reason. 

For  Kant,  while  regarding  the  unconditional 
character  of  moral  obligation  as  something 
only  to  be  apprehended  by  reason,  the  sole 
faculty  in  us  which  takes  for  its  object  what 
is  perfect  or  complete,  yet  insists  upon  the 
great  interval  between  the  apprehension  of 
an  unconditional  command  to  be  actually 
obeyed,  and  that  of  the  unconditioned  as  a 
mere  "  regulative  idea,"  which  forbids  us 


KANT  AND  HIS  CONTEMPORARIES   201 

to  rest  satisfied  with  anything  conditioned 
by,  or  dependent  upon,  something  else,  but 
never  presents  us  with  an  object  which  is  not 
so  conditioned.  To  the  "  practical  reason," 
Kant  assigned  the  "  primacy "  over  the 
44  theoretical."  In  doing  this,  he  is  using 
language  very  unlike  that  which  had  hitherto 
been  common  among  philosophers.  Of  all 
human  activities,  by  far  the  highest,  in  the 
judgment  of  Aristotle,  was  that  of  knowing. 
Neoplatonists  and  Schoolmen  had  looked 
forward  to  the  enjoyment  of  an  immediate 
knowledge — a  44  beatific  vision  " — of  God  as 
the  goal  of  man's  endeavour,  to  which  the 
practice  of  virtue  and  piety  did  but  point 
the  way.  To  Spinoza,  the  noblest  state  of  the 
human  spirit  was  an  44  intellectual  love  of 
God,"  produced  by  a  sufficient  knowledge 
of  the  parallel  systems  of  matter  and  mind  in 
which  the  divine  nature  revealed  itself  to  us. 
It  is  true  that  the  English  philosophers  of 
the  school  of  Locke  had  been  inclined  to 
dwell  on  the  limitations  of  our  knowledge, 
which  were  yet  consistent  with  our  knowing 
what  our  duty  was,  and  fulfilling  the  purpose 
of  our  existence  by  doing  it.  But  this  way 
of  looking  at  the  matter  was  less  common 
among  the  cultivated  men  of  Germany  in  the 
age  in  which  Kant  grew  up,  an  age  which 
is  often  called  that  of  4t  Enlightenment," 
as  being  one  in  which  a  special  value  was 

G  2 


202    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

attached  to  "  knowledge"  and  the  superiority 
to  the  prejudices  of  the  ignorant  which  know- 
ledge conferred  on  its  possessors. 

Kant  was,  as  he  tells  us  himself,  by  natural 
disposition  a  seeker  after  knowledge;  and 
had  once  looked  down  with  contempt  on  the 
uneducated  multitude  who  were  incapable 
of  it.  But  the  influence  of  a  great  French 
writer,  the  prophet  of  modern  democracy, 
Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  (1712-1778),  had  con- 
verted him  to  a  different  view.  He  had  come 
to  regard  the  possession  of  knowledge  as 
something  on  which  a  man  had  no  right  to 
value  himself  above  his  fellows.  What  alone 
is  of  intrinsic  value  is  faithfulness  to  duty, 
which  is  within  the  reach  of  every  man,  high 
or  low,  educated  or  uneducated;  while  it  is 
only  some  men  whose  duty  includes — as 
Kant's  own  did — the  pursuit  and  cultivation 
of  knowledge  for  its  own  sake.  It  is,  how- 
ever, remarkable  that,  while  Kant  thus  owed 
to  Rousseau  his  view  of  the  pursuit  of  know- 
ledge (which  is  only  for  the  few)  as  merely, 
so  to  say,  departmental  in  comparison  with 
morality,  which  is  the  business  of  all  men 
alike,  he  did  not  by  any  means  follow  Rousseau 
in  thinking  of  morality  mainly  as  a  sentiment. 
On  the  contrary,  though  living  in  an  age  in 
which  Rousseau  had  made  an  extreme  senti- 
mentalism  very  popular,  he  went  far  hi  the 
opposite  direction  of  allowing  to  sentiment  as 


KANT  AND  HIS  CONTEMPORARIES   203 

small  a  part  in  morality  as  possible.  Not 
only  did  he  insist  that,  except  when  duty 
runs  counter  to  interest  and  inclination  can 
one  ever  be  sure  that  it  is  the  motive  of  any 
action ;  but  he  sometimes  spoke  as  if  a.n  action 
which  gave  pleasure  to  the  doer  could  not  be 
done  from  a  right  motive. 

This  provoked  the  poet  Schiller  (1759- 
1805),  who  was  a  great  admirer  of  his,  to  an 
epigram  in  which  he  laughed  at  the  notion 
that  one  was  only  moral  when  one  obeyed 
the  law  with  horror.  It  was  natural  that  such 
language  should  displease  a  poet.  Whatever 
be  the  case  with  morality,  an  artist  must 
certainly  feel  the  beauty  to  which  he  gives 
expression.  In  his  later  writings,  Kant  came 
to  deal  with  the  nature  of  our  judgments 
about  beauty,  which  we  are  so  far  from  sup- 
posing merely  to  state  our  individual  prefer- 
ences that  we  claim  for  them,  as  for  our  moral 
judgments,  universal  assent,  and  think,  if 
others  disagree  with  us,  that  either  we  or 
they  must  be  wrong.  Kant  held  that,  in 
claiming  assent  for  such  judgments,  our 
appeal  was  to  a  community  of  feeling  among 
mankind  in  matters  of  taste.  But,  in  claiming 
a  like  assent  for  our  moral  judgments,  he 
thought  that  our  appeal  must  lie  to  general 
principles  of  reason,  with  which  feeling  has 
nothing  to  do.  The  authority  of  these 
principles  must,  indeed,  be  recognized  by  the 


204    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

individual  for  himself;  so  far  as  he  does  not 
perceive  in  them  the  utterance  of  his  own 
reason  or  conscience,  but  only  means  to  some 
other  end,  such  as  favour  with  God  or  man, 
his  obedience  is  not  truly  moral.  Yet  just 
because  they  are  the  utterance  of  his  own 
reason,  there  can  be  nothing  private  about 
them.  It  is  as  a  "  rational  being  "  that  he 
is  aware  of  them ;  and  every  other  "  rational 
being  "  must  be  supposed  aware  of  them  also. 
It  is  in  thus  being  aware  of  the  moral  law 
that  the  individual  comes  to  be  conscious  of 
the  freedom  of  his  will ;  for,  since  he  knows  he 
ought  to  will  and  do  certain  things,  he  cannot 
doubt  that  he  can  will  them  and  (so  far  as  his 
will  is  not  thwarted)  do  them.  From  this 
consciousness  of  the  moral  law  and  of  the 
freedom  which  it  implies,  follows  the  recog- 
nition of  the  equal  freedom  of  every  other 
rational  being  who  has  the  same  conscious- 
ness; and  from  this,  again,  the  thought  of  a 
commonwealth  or  kingdom  of  rational  beings, 
bound  together  by  their  consciousness  of 
obligation  to  keep  the  same  law.  There  is 
a  remarkable  correspondence  between  these 
three  aspects  of  our  consciousness  of  right 
and  wrong,  and  the  three  principles  of  Liberty, 
Equality,  and  Fraternity,  proclaimed  in  the 
watchword  of  the  French  Revolution,  the 
beginning  of  which  Kant  hailed  no  less  en- 
thusiastically than  his  English  contemporary 


KANT  AND  HIS  CONTEMPORARIES   205 

Price,  and  which  aimed  at  giving  a  political 
expression  to  the  fundamental  factors  recog- 
nized by  him  in  the  moral  nature  of  man. 
In  that  freedom  of  the  will  which  morality 
implies,  Kant  recognized  that  same  idea  of  an 
unconditioned  origin  which  to  the  "  theoretical 
reason  "  had  presented  an  inevitable  but  in- 
soluble problem ;  to  the  "  practical  reason  " 
it  is  more  than  a  "  problem,"  it  is  a  "  postu- 
late " ;  for  one  is  bound  to  act  as  though  one 
were  free.  Yet  an  act,  as  an  event  in  time, 
cannot  look  free,  when  surveyed  from  without, 
either  by  others  than  the  doer,  or  by  the  doer 
himself  after  the  act  is  done.  Like  any  other 
event,  it  must  have  antecedents,  among  which 
the  same  principle  as  elsewhere  governs  our 
scientific  study  of  events  constrains  us  to 
search  for  a  cause,  and,  even  though  we  do 
not  succeed  in  finding  it,  to  assume  it  to  be 
there.  As  phenomena,  then,  our  actions  are 
determined,  even  though  they  are  done — and 
could  only  be  done — under  the  idea  of  freedom. 
Kant's  doctrine  of  freedom  may  be  thought 
rather  to  state  than  to  solve  the  difficulty. 
It  is  characteristic  of  a  thinker  in  whom  the 
moral  and  the  scientific  consciousness  were 
alike  developed  in  no  ordinary  degree  that 
he  should  have  refused  to  sacrifice  either  of 
them  to  the  other,  by  treating  as  an  illusion 
the  consciousness  of  freedom  without  which 
our  whole  moral  life  would  be  rendered 


206    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

meaningless,  or  by  pretending  that  as  a 
scientific  spectator  one  could  satisfy  oneself 
of  the  absolute  originality  of  any  event  in 
time.  If  he  tends  to  regard  the  moral  con- 
sciousness as  nearer  to  the  inner  nature  of 
reality  than  the  scientific,  this  may  be  justified 
by  the  consideration  that  the  former  is  bound 
up  with  the  actual  doing  of  that  which  only 
comes  before  the  latter  as  already  done. 

We  can  now  see  how,  in  the  case  of  the 
freedom  of  the  will,  Kant  could  say  that  we 
had  grounds  for  holding  it  to  be  true,  which 
were  sufficient  to  act  upon,  but  insufficient 
to  remove  speculative  doubt.  He  said  the 
same  of  "  immortality "  and  of  "  God." 
We  are  conscious  of  an  unconditional  obliga- 
tion to  act  as  though  there  were  before  us  a 
prospect  of  perpetually  advancing  toward  an 
ideal  which  we  cannot  imagine'  ourselves 
having  attained ;  and  as  though  there  were  a 
ruler  of  the  world,  in  whose  government  of  it 
morality  was  the  supreme  consideration.  No 
scientific  investigation  could  turn  for  us  these 
"  postulates  "  of  practical  reason  into  ascer- 
tained facts;  for  neither  of  them  could  be 
perceived  as  events  in  time  or  objects  in 
space.  But,  for  the  same  reason,  neither  can 
scientific  investigation  disprove  them.  They, 
along  with  freedom,  are  objects,  not  of  know- 
ledge, but  of  faith. 

In  his  Critique  of  Pure  Reason,  Kant  had 


KANT  AND  HIS  CONTEMPORARIES   207 

contended  that  the  real  nature  whether  of 
the  world  or  of  the  mind  as  they  are  in 
themselves  must  necessarily  be  unknown 
to  us;  we  can  only  know  them  as  they 
appear  to  us;  and,  though  we  cannot  help 
speculating  on  what  they  are  in  themselves, 
such  speculations  do  not  admit  of  being 
brought  to  the  only  possible  test,  that  of  ex- 
perience. In  his  Critique  of  Practical  Reason, 
he  had  urged  that,  notwithstanding  this,  it  is 
incumbent  upon  us  to  act  as  though  the  inner 
nature  of  things  were  what  we  had  thus  been 
led  to  guess  it  to  be;  although  our  actions, 
when  once  done,  cannot  appear  to  us  as 
what,  in  order  to  do  them,  we  had  to  sup- 
pose they  could  be,  namely,  the  effects 
of  our  own  free  will.  In  the  third  and 
last  Critique,  which  (for  reasons  to  explain 
which  would  require  a  fuller  account  of  his 
technical  phraseology  than  is  here  possible) 
he  called  the  Critique  of  the  Faculty  of  Judg- 
ment, he  discovers  certain  appearances  or 
phenomena  which,  even  as  such,  we  cannot 
describe  apart  from  that  notion  of  a  "  final 
cause,"  "  end,"  or  "  purpose,"  without  which 
we  cannot  act,  but  which  has  no  place  in  the 
mathematical  and  mechanical  kind  of  explana- 
tion that  is  the  ideal  of  science  or  knowledge 
properly  so-called.  These  appearances  are 
of  two  sorts.  There  are  the  phenomena 
which  we  call  beautiful.  Although  we  do 


208    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

not  always,  when  we  recognize  that  an  object 
is  beautiful,  think  of  any  particular  end  or 
purpose  which  it  serves,  yet  we  do  think  of  it 
as  though  the  beauty  were  no  accident,  but 
produced,  like  the  beauty  of  a  work  of  art, 
by  an  intelligence  with  purposes,  that  is,  by 
a  will.  Yet  here  too  we  have  only  to  do  with 
feelings  aroused  in  us  by  the  perception  of 
certain  objects.  We  are  not  justified  in 
attributing  beauty  to  the  objects  as  they 
exist  for  the  scientific  understanding,  which 
can,  indeed,  often  explain  the  origin  of 
beautiful  things  on  mechanical  principles, 
without  any  reference  to  their  beauty.  The 
other  sort  of  phenomena  which  we  seem 
unable  to  describe  without  reference  to  an 
end  or  purpose  are  organic  beings,  like  plants 
and  animals.  Though  even  with  these  we 
should  push  mechanical  explanation  as  far  as  it 
will  go,  yet  there  must  always  be  something 
in  them — the  adaptation  of  their  parts  to  the 
purposes  of  the  whole  organism — which  cannot 
be  thus  explained.  Here  too,  however,  we  are 
only  to  say  that  we  cannot  explain  the  nature  of 
these  objects  without  introducing  the  supposi- 
tion of  a  design ;  we  are  not  justified  in  asserting 
that  the  phenomena  we  thus  explain  could  not 
otherwise  have  come  into  existence. 

The  work  of  Kant  made  an  epoch  in  philo- 
sophy. In  it  lines  of  thought  which  men  had 
long  been  pursuing  were  shown  to  tend,  if 


KANT  AND  HIS  CONTEMPORARIES   209 

carried  out,  to  results  more  destructive  than 
had  been  foreseen  by  those  who  started  them. 
This  was  the  case  with  that  which  originated 
with  the  abandonment  by  Descartes  of  the 
old  acquiescence  in  the  view  that  the  mind 
could  apprehend  a  reality  which  existed  in- 
dependently of  being  apprehended.  The  only 
conviction  which  Descartes'  doubt  had  spared 
was  that  of  the  existence  of  his  own  thought. 
But,  by  means  of  his  "  ontological  argument 
for  the  existence  of  God  "  as  implied  in  the 
very  nature  of  this  thought,  he  believed  him- 
self to  have  recovered  all  that  was  worth 
having  of  what  he  had  provisionally  aban- 
doned. Kant  denied  that  there  could  be  one 
among  our  ideas  endowed  with  the  singular 
prerogative  of  certifying  the  existence  of  a 
corresponding  reality,  and  thereby  destroyed 
the  bridge  which  Descartes  had  built  between 
the  mind  and  the  real  world.  Henceforth,  if 
Kant  was  right,  the  only  world  accessible  to 
our  minds  was  a  world  of  phenomena. 

Again,  the  school  of  Locke  had  been  in- 
clined to  assume  that  whatever  in  our  know- 
ledge could  be  shown  to  be  the  work  of  the 
mind,  was  thereby  shown  not  to  belong  to 
reality;  and  Kant  had  found  that  in  every 
possible  object  of  our  experience  some  "  work 
of  the  mind  "  was  involved.  Thus,  we  could 
not,  indeed,  say  that  notions  like  those  of 
cause,  because  they  originated  in  the  mind, 


210    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

must  be  inapplicable  to  objects;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  in  saying  this  we  had  to  allow  that 
these  objects  were  not  things  in  themselves, 
but  only  phenomena. 

It  seemed  to  many  that  Kant  had  done  in 
the  sphere  of  thought  what  the  French 
Revolution  had  done  in  the  sphere  of  politics. 
He  had  brought  down  the  long  tottering 
edifice  of  the  established  order,  and  had  made 
a  new  start  possible  by  clearing  the  ground 
once  for  all  of  an  inveterate  growth  of  old 
pretensions  to  transcend  the  common  lot  of 
man.  He  had  called  upon  the  reason  to  take 
stock  of  its  native  powers  and  of  the  means 
at  its  disposal,  before  taking  up  once  more, 
with  less  ambition  but  better  prospects,  the 
task  in  which  the  lack  of  any  such  progress 
toward  agreement  as  was  exhibited  by  the 
mathematical  and  physical  sciences  proved 
philosophy  to  have  hitherto  signally  failed. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   SUCCESSORS   OF   KANT 

As  a  result  of  the  impetus  given  by 
Kant,  we  find  during  the  following  period  a 
greater  activity  of  philosophical  speculation 
in  Germany  than  anywhere  else  in  Europe. 
Just  as  in  France,  the  native  land  of  the 


THE  SUCCESSORS  OF  KANT     211 

political  revolution  of  the  age,  the  old  regime 
before  the  revolution  came  all  at  once  to 
seem  vastly  remote,  and  to  have  scarcely 
anything  to  do  with  the  controversies  of  the 
present,  so  it  was  in  Germany,  the  native 
land  of  the  contemporary  philosophical  revo- 
lution, with  respect  to  the  days  before  Kant. 
Though  this  was  not  the  case  elsewhere,  yet 
on  European  philosophy. in  general  the  effect 
of  Kant's  work  has  been  so  great  that  it  is 
scarcely  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  all  roads 
in  the  thought  of  to-day  lead  back  to  him. 

In  dealing,  therefore,  with  the  philosophy 
of  the  nineteenth  century,  to  which  we  are 
still  too  near  to  see  it  in  its  true  perspective, 
and  for  even  as  full  a  treatment  of  which  as 
we  have  been  able  to  give  to  the  philosophy 
of  earlier  times  the  few  pages  still  left  us  are 
insufficient,  it  will  be  convenient  to  confine 
ourselves  to  describing  the  different  ways  in 
which  some  of  the  most  prominent  thinkers 
have  worked  out  or  criticized  the  various 
suggestions  to  be  found  in  Kant.  Many 
important  names  must  go  unmentioned;  and 
we  will  stop  short  of  the  mention  of  any 
writers  who  are  still  living. 

Perhaps,  of  Kant's  doctrines,  the  most 
striking  on  a  first  impression,  if  also  perhaps 
the  least  fruitful,  is  that  which  denies  to  the 
mind  an  access  to  ultimate  reality,  and  limits 
it  to  a  knowledge  of  phenomena.  This  thought 


212    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

was  the  basis  of  the  "  positivism "  of  the 
French  philosopher  Auguste  Comte  (1798- 
1857),  who  went  so  far  as  to  limit  the  possible 
range  of  human  science  to  external  pheno- 
mena (thus  ruling  out  psychology),  and 
to  these  within  the  solar  system  (thus  ruling 
out  sidereal  astronomy).  The  same  thought 
underlay  also  the  theory  of  the  "  relativity 
of  knowledge  "  taught  by  the  Scottish  pro- 
fessor Sir  William  Hamilton  (1788-1856)  and 
his  follower,  the  English  divine  and  Dean  of  St. 
Paul's,  Henry  Longueville  Mansel  (1820-1871), 
and  after  them,  in  a  book  called  First  Prin- 
ciples, by  a  very  influential  thinker,  Herbert 
Spencer  (1820-1903),  who,  however,  differed 
from  Hamilton  and  still  more  from  Mansel  in 
having  no  wish,  by  insisting  on  the  limitations 
of  knowledge,  to  leave  room  for  faith  in  a 
supernatural  revelation.  It  is  noticeable  that 
our  inability  to  apprehend  reality  as  it  is  in 
itself  is  regarded  by  these  writers  less  as  a 
defect  due  to  the  peculiar  nature  of  our 
faculties  than  as  a  characteristic  of  all  know- 
ledge, which  must  always  consist  in  a  relation 
between  a  knowing  mind,  or  "  subject,"  and 
an  "  object  "  known.  It  certainly  seems  un- 
deniable that  one  cannot  know  anything 
outside  of  this  relation;  but  the  question 
may  still  be  raised  whether  a  thing  as  known 
must  necessarily  differ  from  a  thing  as  it  is 
independently  of  being  known. 


THE  SUCCESSORS  OF  KANT     213 

By  all  the  writers  to  whom  I  have  just 
referred,  their  doctrine  of  the  limitations  of 
our  knowledge  was  regarded  as  excluding  the 
possibility  of  any  knowledge  of  the  Absolute. 
The  Absolute  was  often  mentioned  in  the 
systems  of  German  philosophy  which  were 
put  forward  during  the  half  century  which 
followed  the  appearance  of  Kant's  Critique  of 
Pure  Reason.  The  word  "  absolute  "  has  two 
meanings,  which  have  not  unfrequently  been 
confused  together.  It  may  mean  what  is 
out  of  relation,  and  it  is  clear  that  no  object 
of  knowledge  can  be  out  of  relation  to  the 
mind  that  knows  it.  It  may  also  mean  what 
is  perfect  or  complete.  In  this  latter  sense,  it 
was  applied  to  the  ultimate  unity  within 
which  the  two  factors  of  knowledge,  the 
knowing  mind  or  "  subject "  and  the  known 
"  object,"  must,  just  because  they  are  thus 
related  to  each  other,  be  both  embraced. 
Though  it  may  seem  paradoxical  to  speak  of 
this  unity  as  if  it  were  itself  a  known  object, 
and  so  one  of  its  own  factors,  yet  in  reflecting, 
as  Kant  calls  upon  philosophers  to  do,  upon 
the  nature  of  knowledge  itself,  we  find  that  we 
are  as  a  matter  of  fact  considering  it,  and  a 
name  for  it  seems  to  be  required. 

We  have  seen  that,  according  to  Kant,  there 
is,  behind  the  phenomena  which  are  all  that 
we  can  know,  what  he  sometimes  calls  "  the 
thing  as  it  is  in  itself,"  but  sometimes 


214    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

describes  as  a  noumenon — that  is,  something  of 
which  we  think,  but  which  we  do  not  perceive. 
This  is  what  would  be  left  if  you  could  strip 
an  object  of  all  the  characteristics  which  are 
due  to  our  way  of  perceiving  it  and  which 
make  it  a  phenomenon;  it  is  something 
which  we  cannot  help  thinking  is  there,  and 
which  yet  can  never  be  perceived  by  us  as  it  is 
in  itself.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  Kant 
should  have  followers  who  thought  his  philo- 
sophy would  be  improved  by  frankly  recog- 
nizing that  this  "  thing  in  itself  "  was  itself, 
after  all,  only  a  creature  of  the  mind;  that 
to  suppose  there  need  be  anything  in  our 
experience  which  is  not  produced  by  the 
mind  from  its  own  resources  is  only  an  in- 
consistent relic  of  that  "  dogmatic  "  way  of 
thinking,  of  which  it  had  been  Kant's  great 
aim  to  get  rid. 

This  step  was  taken  by  Johann  Gottlieb 
Fichte  (1762-1814),  who  was  famous  not  only 
as  a  philosopher,  but  as  one  of  the  patriots 
who  did  most  to  rouse  the  Germans  to  stand 
up  for  their  national  independence  against 
Napoleon.  Both  that  which  knows,  and  that 
from  which  the  knowing  self  in  knowledge 
distinguishes  itself  and  considers  as  its  object, 
are  regarded  by  Fichte  as  both  alike  wholly 
the  result  of  the  activity  of  that  mind  to 
which  Kant  had  already  traced  everything  in 
our  experience  except  what  belonged  to  the 


THE  SUCCESSORS  OF  KANT     215 

"  thing-in-itself."  This  was  not,  of  course, 
your  mind  or  mine — or  rather  it  was  no  more 
your  mind  than  mine,  nor  mine  than  yours. 
Neither  in  his  account  of  knowledge,  nor  in 
his  account  of  will,  did  Kant  take  it  to  be 
due  to  anything  which  varies  from  individual 
to  individual  that  an  object  is  what  it  must 
be  to  be  perceptible  or  intelligible,  or  that 
a  voluntary  action  is  good.  Nor,  indeed, 
do  we  ever  suppose,  when  we  are  counting 
or  drawing  conclusions  from  premisses, 
that  any  other  way  of  counting  or  reason- 
ing is  open  to  us  than  is  open  to  others. 
Although  it  may  be  a  private  motive  that 
leads  me  to  count  or  to  reason,  an  intrusion 
of  private  considerations  into  the  processes 
themselves  could  only  vitiate  them.  So,  too, 
I  can  only  judge  what  it  is  right  to  do  by  dis- 
counting any  private  interests  and  inclina- 
tions. The  "  absolute  self,"  then,  which 
Fichte  takes  to  be  the  source  of  all  that 
enters  into  our  experience,  is  this  mind  which 
thinks  and  wills  in  me  when  I  think  or  will 
aright.  This  is  the  principal  difference  be- 
tween his  view  and  that  of  Berkeley,  who 
always  speaks  of  external  things  as  ideas  of 
the  individual  spirits  which  perceive  them. 
If  we  ask  why  the  "  absolute  self  "  always 
divides  itself  in  actual  experience  into  a  self 
that  knows  and  something  other  than  the  self 
for  the  self  to  know,  Fichte,  following  Kant 


216    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

in  his  view  that  we  should  expect  the  deeper 
secrets  of  our  existence  to  come  to  light  in 
our  moral  rather  than  in  our  scientific  experi- 
ence, would  answer  that  our  moral  life  requires 
nature  as  an  obstacle  whose  resistance  may  be 
overcome  by  effort  in  obedience  to  duty,  and 
as  a  means  of  communication  with  other 
selves.  For  there  must  be  many  selves,  that 
each  self  may  have  obligations  or  duties,  and 
play  its  part  in  a  moral  order  which  is  the 
complete  expression  of  the  absolute  self; 
this  moral  order  we  may  call  God ;  and  beside 
or  outside  of  it  there  is  no  God. 

To  Friedrich  Wilhelm  Joseph  von  Schelling 
(1775-1854),  it  seemed  that  Fichte's  treatment 
of  nature  as  a  kind  of  obstacle  set  up  for  the 
soul  to  exercise  itself  in  successfully  over- 
coming, or  even  as  a  means  of  communication 
with  other  souls,  did  insufficient  justice  to  the 
spiritual  significance  which  belonged  to  it  in 
its  own  right,  and  which  (as  had  been  shown 
in  Kant's  Critique  of  the  Faculty  of  Judgment) 
appears  in  the  beauty  that  artistic  genius 
discovers  therein.  In  nature,  Schelling  prefers 
to  see  a  manifestation  of  the  Absolute  parallel 
rather  than  subordinate  to  its  manifestation 
in  mind;  a  view  which  recalls  Spinoza's  one 
Substance  with  its  two  attributes  of  extension 
and  thought.  But  this  correction  of  a  one- 
sidedness  in  the  system  of  Fichte  led  to 
the  representation  of  the  Absolute  itself  as 


THE  SUCCESSORS  OF  KANT     217 

something  which  was  neither  what  nature 
was,  nor  yet  what  mind  was;  as  though, 
while  it  was  the  ultimate  reality  underlying 
both,  it  were  itself  destitute  of  any  definite 
characteristics. 

In  the  words  of  Georg  Wilhelm  Friedrich 
Hegel  (1770-1831),  who,  after  being  a  fellow- 
worker  of  Schelling's  in  his  philosophical  in- 
vestigations, became  very  critical  of  the 
results  which  his  colleague  reached,  such  an 
Absolute  was  like  "  a  night  in  which  all  cows 
were  black."  The  glance  of  "  intellectual 
intuition "  by  which  the  philosopher  was 
supposed  by  Schelling  to  apprehend,  all  at 
once,  this  ultimate  unity  was  represented  as 
if  it  were  something  quite  apart  from  the 
laborious  process  of  reflection  which  had  to 
be  used  in  tracing  out  in  detail  the  structure 
either  of  nature  or  of  mind.  It  was  just  here 
that  Hegel's  view  diverged  from  Schelling's. 
To  Hegel,  the  task  of  philosophy  could  not  be 
considered  as  complete  until  it  was  shown 
that,  in  tracing  the  actual  structure  of  mind 
and  of  nature,  we  were  tracing  out  the  struc- 
ture of  the  Absolute  itself.  The  Absolute  was 
not  something  which  remains  in  the  back- 
ground, indifferent  to  its  manifestations, 
only  to  be  detected  by  some  sudden  flash  of 
insight;  it  must  rather  be  held  to  live  and 
move  and  have  its  very  being  in  its  manifes- 
tations, so  that  only  through  the  laborious 


218    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

investigation  of  these  can  it  reveal  itself  to  us 
as  it  is. 

Such  a  view,  Hegel  thought,  had  been  long 
ago  suggested  by  the  Christian  doctrine  of 
the  Trinity,  which  represented  it  as  belonging 
to  the  innermost  nature  of  the  supreme  real- 
ity that  it  should  manifest  itself.  Nor  did 
Hegel,  like  Schelling,  regard  "  nature  "  and 
"  mind  "  as  parallel  manifestations  of  a  single 
Absolute,  which  itself  was  neither  "  nature  " 
nor  "  mind."  He  preferred  to  see  in  them 
integral  parts  of  one  process  of  self-manifesta- 
tion, apart  from  which  there  was  no  Absolute 
at  all.  Mind  or  spirit  needed — so  far  Hegel 
agreed  with  Fichte — an  external  world,  in 
striving  to  know  and  use  which  it  might 
develop  its  own  capacities ;  but  the  external 
world  only  serves  this  purpose  because  it  sets 
before  the  mind  as  an  object  for  its  study 
and  appropriation  a  nature  which  is,  in  truth, 
the  mind's  own.  Kant  had  explained  the 
possibility  of  a  scientific  explanation  of  nature 
by  the  presence  in  it  of  principles  native  to  the 
mind  (such  as  space,  time,  causality).  But  he 
had  gone  wrong,  in  Hegel's  judgment,  When 
he  went  on  to  speak  as  though  these  principles 
were  merely  added,  as  it  were,  by  the  mind 
to  things  which  remained  in  themselves  un- 
affected by  them.  Were  it  so,  our  science 
would  be  an  illusion,  and  not  a  genuine  appre- 
hension of  reality  at  all.  But  it  is  such  a 


THE  SUCCESSORS  OF  KANT     219 

genuine  apprehension,  since  what  appears 
to  us,  the  phenomenon,  is  the  reality  appear- 
ing; the  reality  is  not  something  else  which 
does  not  appear  but  remains  all  the  time  in 
the  background  unrevealed. 

Kant  held  that  what  the  mind  finds  itself 
constrained  to  accept  as  rationally  necessary 
is  not  on  that  account  to  be  regarded  as  in  the 
last  resort  real ;  and  that  to  describe  the  real 
as  that  which  the  mind  can  understand  would 
be  an  unwarrantable  dogmatism.  Hegel,  on 
the  other  hand,  lays  it  down,  in  words  very 
similar  to  some  of  Plato's,  that  what  is  real  is 
rational  and  what  is  rational  is  real.  Hence 
he  did  not  approve  of  Kant's  emphatic  rejec- 
tion of  that  "  ontological  argument  for  the 
existence  of  God  "  in  which  Descartes  and 
his  followers  had  embodied  this  very  prin- 
ciple, that  in  the  last  resort  the  intelligible 
and  the  real  must  be  one.  For  how  can  we 
be  said  to  understand  or  know  anything  but 
what  is  true  and  real  ?  How  is  the  real  to  be 
distinguished  except  by  its  intelligibility? 
Kant  had  said  that  we  could  no  more  argue 
from  the  thought  of  God  to  his  existence  than 
from  the  thought  of  dollars  to  their  presence 
in  one's  pocket.  The  thought  of  dollars, 
however,  is  a  thought  of  things  which,  if  they 
exist  at  all,  must  be  tangible  and  visible; 
only  by  an  appeal  to  the  senses  could  a 
supposition  of  their  existence  possibly  be 


220    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

verified.  But  the  thought  of  an  ultimate 
reality  which  is  rational  or  intelligible — for 
that  is  practically  what  is  here  meant  by 
"  God  " — is  the  thought  of  something  which 
is  certainly  not  perceptible  by  the  senses. 
To  appeal  to  the  senses  for  verification  here 
would  be  as  unreasonable  as  it  was  proper  in 
the  sense  of  the  dollars.  The  only  verification 
of  which  we  could  reasonably  talk  is  that  which 
is  supplied  by  the  actual  progress  of  knowledge 
as,  under  the  pressure  of  the  questions  which  the 
mind  puts  to  it,  the  world  yields  up  one  secret 
after  another.  But  the  whole  business  of  put- 
ting the  questions,  distinguishing  the  answers, 
and  seeing  what  new  questions  these  answers 
suggest,  is  all  carried  on  by  the  mind  in  the 
strength  of  the  conviction  which  the  "  onto- 
logical  argument  "  expresses,  that  in  thinking 
logically,  that  is,  in  following  the  law  of  its 
own  nature,  it  is  tracing  out  the  actual 
structure  of  reality. 

Now,  Hegel  thought  that  the  method  by 
which  the  mind  proceeds  is  something  like 
this.  Some  suggestion  is  fastened  upon,  as 
though  it  were  the  whole  truth  of  the  matter. 
Then  difficulties  are  seen  in  it,  and  somebody 
brings  forward  an  exactly  opposite  suggestion 
as  an  improvement.  This  proves  to  have 
just  the  same  difficulties  in  it  as  the  original 
suggestion;-  and  it  turns  out  that  each 
suggestion,  when  taken  apart  from  the  other, 


THE  SUCCESSORS  OF  KANT     221 

in  "  abstraction,"  as  we  say,  is  false :  but 
that,  if  each  is  taken  as  the  complement  of 
the  other,  it  is  true,  or  rather  one  side  of  the 
truth.  The  champions  of  the  two  suggestions 
are  like  the  two  knights  in  the  story  who 
fought  over  the  question  whether  the  shield 
were  of  gold  or  silver  when,  really,  one  side 
was  of  gold  and  the  other  of  silver,  but  each 
knight  had  only  looked  at  one.  This  sort 
of  process  Hegel  calls  by  the  old  Greek  name 
of  dialectic,  because  it  naturally  fell  into 
the  form  of  a  controversy,  whether  between 
two  combatants,  or  with  a  single  thinker 
sustaining  both  parts ;  and  Hegel  thought  that 
this  kind  of  controversy  was,  as  Plato  held,  the 
true  method  of  philosophy,  and  must  be  so, 
because  the  world  is  really  made  up  of  recon- 
ciled opposites,  and  so  can  only  be  understood 
by  contradiction  followed  by  reconciliation. 
What  can  be  more  opposite  than  the  two 
poles  of  a  magnet,  than  right  and  left,  up  and 
down,  past  and  future  ?  Yet  in  each  of  these 
pairs  one  of  the  two  is  impossible,  incon- 
ceivable, without  the  other. 

The  same  principle  may  be  illustrated  from 
philosophy  and  from  politics.  One  man  is  not 
another  man;  yet,  as  both  are  called  men, 
there,  must,  be  something  which  is  neither  of 
them,  but  just  what  both  are,  namely  "  man." 
But,  if  by  "  man  "  we  mean  this  something, 
and  not  either  of  the  two  men  with  whom  we 


222    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

started,  then  this  something  will  be  just  a 
third  thing  called  "  man,"  and  we  shall  have 
got  no  further.  We  have  to  recognize  that 
"  universal  "  arid  "  particulars,"  "  man  "  and 
"  men,"  imply  one  another,  and  that  we 
cannot  have  one  without  the  other.  So  again, 
it  is  of  no  use  to  set  up  anarchy  against 
despotism,  a  freedom  without  rule  against  a 
rule  without  freedom.  You  have  the  same 
evil  in  either  case,  namely,  arbitrary  caprice. 
You  cannot  count  upon  anything  and  have 
no  security.  There  is  no  more  real  freedom 
under  anarchy  than  under  despotism;  no 
more  real  law  under  despotism  than  under 
anarchy.  Real  freedom  is  that  which  accepts 
the  limitations  imposed  by  a  law  seen  to  be 
reasonable ;  real  law  is  that  which  is  accepted 
by  its  subjects  as  what  they  see  to  be  reason- 
able, and  therefore  themselves  will.  This  is, 
of  course,  what  Kant  implied  in  saying  that 
the  moral  law  is  only  really  obeyed  when  it  is 
recognized  as  reasonable  and  willed  as  ,good 
by  him  who  obeys  it. 

It  must  not,  however,  be  supposed  that 
Hegel  subscribed  to  all  Kant's  views  on 
morality.  On  the  contrary,  he  fell  foul  of 
him  for  insisting  that  in  morality  we  were  con- 
cerned only  with  what  ought  to  be,  and  not 
at  all  with  what  is ;  so  that  it  might  quite 
conceivably  be  the  case  that  the  moral  law, 
though  unconditionally  obligatory,  should 


THE  SUCCESSORS  OF  KANT     223 

never  actually  be  obeyed.  This  view  seemed 
to  Hegel  inconsistent  with  his  principle  that 
"  the  real  was  the  rational,  and  the  rational 
the  real  " ;  and  all  of  a  piece  with  Kant's 
willingness  in  respect  of  knowledge  vto  suppose 
that  things  might  very  well  not  be  in  them- 
selves what  we  cannot  help  thinking  that 
they  are.  To  Hegel  it  was  certain  that, 
though  many  things  might1  when  taken  by 
themselves  be  otherwise  than  they  ought  to 
be,  yet,  seen  in  their  context  with  the  whole 
system  of  things,  they  would  be  found  to 
be  balanced  by  corrective  and  compensating 
circumstances,  so  that  in  the  last  Tesort  what 
ouglit  to  be  really  is,  and  what  is,  is  what- ought 
to  be.  Nothing  less  than  this,  Hegel  thought, 
was  implied  in  the  faith  of  religion  in  God's 
providence,  which,  whether  by  just  punish- 
ment or  by  merciful  forgiveness,  cancels  the 
evils  without  which  there  would  be  no  occa- 
sion for  either  justice  or  mercy. 

Hegel  called  his  philosophy  "  absolute 
idealism."  "  Idealism "  is  an  ambiguous 
word.  Plato's  philosophy  is  called  idealism 
because  it  holds  that  the  true  nature  of  things 
is  that  which  will  be  found  to  satisfy  our 
intelligence  rather  than  that  which  our  senses 
perceive;  Berkeley's  because  it  holds  that 
external  things  are  just  what  the  senses  per- 
ceive them  to  be,  since  nothing  but  a  mind 
can  be  conceived  to  exist  independently  of 


224    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

mind.  The  ambiguity  depends  upon  the  two 
meanings  of  the  word  "  idea."  But  Hegel's 
doctrine  may  be  called  idealism  in  either 
sense.  For,  according  to  him,  the  world  is 
only  known ,  aright  as  it  reveals  itself  to  the 
most  patient  and  persistent  effort  to  under- 
stand it ;  for  its  innermost  nature  is  one  with 
that  *of  the  mind ;  in  the  vmind's  knowledge  of 
the  world,  the  world  knows  itself,  just  as  in 
knowing  the  world  the  mind  knows  itself.  The 
poet  Shelley  has  expressed  this  thought  in 
words  put  by  him  into  the  mouth  of  Apollo, 
the  personification  of  philosophy,  the  most 
thoroughgoing  kind  of  knowledge: 

"  I  am  the  eye  with  which  the  Universe 
Beholds  itself  and  knows  itself  divine." 

These  views  of  Hegel's  implied  a  very 
different  conception  of  history  from  what 
many  other  philosophers  had  entertained. 
It  was  no  mere  catalogue  of  events,  many 
of  which,  from  a  moral  point  of  view,  ought 
not  to  have  taken  place — which,  at  the  best, 
did  but  illustrate  general  principles  that  might 
have  been  ascertained  otherwise.  To  Hegel 
it  was  the  actual  unfolding  of  the  nature  of 
mind  or  spirit;  we  can  trace  in  it  an  acted 
"  dialectic,"  in  which  particular  principles 
are  worked  out,  reveal  their  one-sidedness, 
drive  men  to  oppose  them,  conflict  with  their 


THE  SUCCESSORS  OF  KANT     225 

opposites,  are  reconciled  with  them  by  solu- 
tions which  do  justice  to  both  parties.  Nor 
is  this  drama  a  mere  idle  show;  only  by 
reflection  upon  what  is  thus  enacted  could  the 
mind  have  discovered  and  appropriated  its 
meaning. 

Just  as  Bacon's  high  estimate  of  the 
philosophical  value  of  natural  science  had 
encouraged  men  to  devote  themselves  to  it, 
so-  Hegel's  high  estimate  of  the  philoso- 
phical value  of  history  encouraged  that  great 
movement  of  progress  in  historical  study 
which  has  been  one  of  the  glories  of  the  nine- 
teenth century.  But,  like  Bacon,  Hegel  was 
only  helping  forward  a  movement  which  had 
already  begun.  A  reaction  from  the  con- 
tempt of  the  past  shown  in  the  French  Revolu- 
tion had  set  in.  The  violent  destruction  of 
old  institutions,  and  the  contempt  of  national 
traditions,  exhibited  by  the  French  in  their 
efforts  to  impose  by  arms  on  all  men  alike  a 
system  based  on  rights  assumed  to  belong  to 
men  in  general,  had  aroused  a  slumbering 
loyalty  to  such  institutions  and  traditions. 
Then  followed  a  period  in  which,  under  the 
influence  of  a  new  enthusiasm  which  the 
French  Revolution  had  itself  stirred  up,  a 
restoration  of  old  landmarks — though  with  a 
difference — was  the  order  of  the  day.  Hegel, 
too,  in  his  own  department  was  striving  to 
build  up  anew  the  confidence  in  reason  which 


226    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

Kant  had  shaken,  and  yet  was  availing  himself 
in  his  task  of  the  new  life  which  Kant  had  put 
into  philosophy ;  nor  was  his  own  system  by 
any  means  a  mere  reproduction  of  those  which 
had  existed  before  Kant.  So  he  became  the 
philosophical  exponent  of  the  period  of 
Restoration.  Beyond  doubt,  it  was  an  impor- 
tant lesson  that  he  had  to  teach,  that  the  in- 
dividual mind  finds  itself,  when  it  first  begins 
to  think,  a  member  of  a  society,  with  a  tradi- 
tion which  is  the  product  of  a  wider  experi- 
ence, a  deeper  knowledge  than  any  which 
the  individual  mind  can  claim;  indeed,  the 
individual  mind  owes  to  it  all  the  thoughts 
of  which  it  is  as  yet  possessed;  and  further 
that  no  criticism  of  this  tradition  can  be 
effective  which  is  not  preceded  by  a  thorough 
appropriation  of  the  good  which  is  in  it.  But 
it  was  not  surprising  that  established  authori- 
ties should  have  been  tempted  to  exploit  in 
their  own  interest  a  philosophy  so  respectful 
toward  existing  fact,  so  severe  on  irresponsible 
criticism,  so  sure  that  right,  in  the  long  run, 
always  has  the  might,  and  hence  so  easy  to 
persuade  that  actual  might  is  a  proof  of  right. 
Still  less  surprising  was  it  that,  in  the  fourth 
decade  of  the  nineteenth  century,  a  philosophy 
which  in  the  preceding  decade  had  been  visibly 
in  favour  with  the  Prussian  Government 
should  have  fallen  into  disrepute  with  a 
generation  whose  discontent  with  such  govern- 


THE  SUCCESSORS  OF  KANT     227 

ments  bore  fruit  in  the  revolutionary  move- 
ments of  1848. 

But,  even  in  the  heyday  of  the  Hegelian 
philosophy,  with  its  profound  conviction 
that  honest  and  strenuous  effort  to  understand 
the  world  would  ever  be  rewarded  by  an 
assurance,  not  otherwise  to  be  won,  of  its 
ultimate  rationality  and  goodness,  a  voice  of 
protest  was  raised  in  Germany  itself  by  Arthur 
Schopenhauer  (1788-1860),  who  had  come  to 
the  opposite  conclusion  that  all  existence  is 
essentially  evil,  and  that  the  fruit  of  our 
efforts  to  understand  it  is  the  knowledge  of 
this,  whereby  we  are  saved  from  any  more 
being  the  dupes  of  what  he  called  "  the  will  to 
live."  This  pessimistic  philosophy,  like  its 
Hegelian  opponent,  could  trace  its  descent 
from  Kant.  Kant  had  given  to  will  the 
primacy  over  knowledge;  had  taught  a  free- 
dom of  the  will  which  could  yet  never  be  the 
object  of  knowledge ;  had  regarded  space  and 
time  not  as  qualities  of  things  in  themselves, 
but  as  ways  in  which  we  perceive  them.  He 
had  also  been  compelled  by  the  facts  of  human 
nature  to  agree  with  the  tradition  of  Christian 
theology  that  there  was  an  original  sinfulness  or 
root  of  evil  in  the  will  of  every  man,  which  could 
not  be  traced  to  any  events  in  his  individual 
life.  In  Schopenhauer  we  find  all  these  points 
emphasized.  The  will  is  the  only  reality ;  the 
faculty  of  knowledge  is  merely  brought  into 


228    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

existence  to  minister  to  its  gratification; 
since  time  and  space  are  not  qualities  of  things 
in  themselves,  they  are  not  qualities  of  the 
will :  and  since  it  is  only  by  means  of  them 
that  we  distinguish  individual  things  from 
one  another,  all  such  distinctions  are  merely 
illusory,  the  true  reality  in  all  being  the  same 
— namely,  a  radically  evil  will,  a  will  or  lust 
to  live. 

The  only  way  of  deliverance  from  the 
tyranny  of  this  insatiable  craving  lies,  accord- 
ing to  Schopenhauer,  in  the  lust  for  existence 
being  checked,  and  a  new  path  entered  upon 
which  may  end  in  the  return  of  the  will  into 
that  state  of  nothingness  from  which  it  has 
only  emerged  to  seek  a  happiness  in  living 
which  living  can  never  yield;  for  in  all  life 
the  painful,  by  common  consent,  vastly  pre- 
dominates over  the  pleasant.  Upon  this 
path  of  self-renunciation  and  eventual  salva- 
tion from  itself,  the  will  is  enabled  to  enter 
by  means  of  the  reason  which  it  brought  into 
being  as  the  instrument  of  its  vain  efforts 
after  satisfaction  through  living.  For  when 
this  reason  has  found  out  the  means  of 
satisfying  the  various  vital  desires,  it  does  not 
rest,  but  goes  on  to  discover  the  grand  secret 
that  these  desires  are  infinite  and  cannot  be 
satisfied,  so  that  only  in  the  abandonment 
of  the  quest  of  such  satisfaction  can  salvation 
be  found.  By  reaching  the  conclusion  that 


THE  SUCCESSORS  OF  KANT     229 

all  the  myriad  forms  of  life  are  but  endless 
reproductions  of  the  one  will,  it  stills  the 
craving  for  separate  satisfaction  in  the  indi- 
vidual who  sees  his  individuality  to  be 
illusory.  In  art,  it  translates  the  struggle  of 
life  into  an  object  of  contemplation  which 
one  may  behold  without  taking  part  in  it  or 
wishing  to  do  so.  Finally,  in  religion  (which 
in  Schopenhauer's  view  has  nothing  to  do 
with  a  personal  God)  the  vanity  of  existence 
is  completely  seen  through,  all  love  of  pheno- 
menal things  departs,  and  the  saint  awaits  in 
a  perfect  calm,  such  as  is  portrayed  in  the 
images  of  the  Buddha  (one  of  which  stood  on 
Schopenhauer's  table  beside  the  picture  of 
Kant),  that  blessed  nothingness  from  which 
no  will  for  a  separate  life  now  divides  him. 
The  mention  of  the  Buddha  reminds  us  that 
this  aspiration  after  a  deliverance  from  con- 
scious life  itself  as  the  supreme  evil  is  one 
which  had  before  Schopenhauer  been  more 
familiar  to  the  East  than  to  the  West ;  and  he 
himself  was,  in  fact,  not  a  little  influenced  by 
a  translation  of  certain  books  of  Indian 
philosophy,  the  Upanishads.  Unlike  Kant, 
to  whom  he  owed  so  much,  he  did  not  regard 
the  essence  of  a  moral  life  as  consisting  in  the 
discharge  of  duties  towards  men  who  have 
corresponding  duties  towards  ourselves,  but 
rather  in  sympathy  for  the  suffering  of  one's 
fellows;  and  animals,  though  they  can  have 


230    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

no  duties  towards  us,  are  no  less  than  men 
our  fellows  in  suffering.  In  this  respect,  also, 
he  was  closer  to  the  traditions  of  Indian  than 
of  European  moral  philosophy. 

The  high  hopes  of  a  new  era  of  popular 
freedom  and  universal  peace  which  were 
abroad  from  1848  to  1852  were  destined  to 
disappointment.  War  followed  on  war  in 
Europe;  and  the  free  progress  of  commerce 
and  industry  seemed  to  be  leading  less  to 
general  happiness  and  harmony  than  to 
misery  in  great  cities  and  to  fierce  inter- 
national competition  for  markets.  These 
things  helped  to  gain  for  Schopenhauer's 
pessimism  a  hearing  after  this  date  which  it 
had  never  won  before.  His  depreciation  of 
knowledge,  as  compared  with  will,  met  also 
with  ready  acceptance  in  a  generation  im- 
pressed by  the  failure  both  of  the  systems  in 
which  Hegel  and  others  had  professed  to 
reveal  the  secret  of  the  universe,  and  also 
of  the  natural  sciences,  despite  the  progress 
they  had  made  during  the  first  half  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  to  solve  what  Tennyson 
called  "  the  riddle  of  the  painful  earth." 
The  positive  side  of  this  part  of  Schopen- 
hauer's philosophy,  the  emphasis  on  will, 
received  a  remarkable  development  at  the 
hands  of  Friedrich  Wilhelm  Nietzsche  (1844- 
1900),  who,  so  to  say,  made  Schopenhauer's 
devil,  the  "will  to  live,"  into  his  god, 


THE  SUCCESSORS  OF  KANT     231 

and,  instead  of  preaching  renunciation  as  a 
means  of  escape  from  it,  called  for  a  more 
robust  affirmation  of  it  as  a  "  will  to  be  power- 
ful," which  would  imply  a  rejection  of  the 
morality  of  gentleness,  pity,  and  resignation 
which  Schopenhauer  had  agreed  with  Budd- 
hism and  Christianity  hi  recommending,  and 
which  seemed  to  Nietzsche  fit  only  for  slaves, 
in  favour  of  a  morality  of  ruthless  self-asser- 
tion, which  might  bring  to  its  votaries  the 
victory  in  the  struggle  for  existence.  It  is 
thus  that  a  higher  kind  of  man,  the  "  super- 
man," will  be  produced;  for  it  is  always 
through  the  "  struggle  for  existence "  that 
new  and  more  vigorous  forms  of  life  are 
developed.  This  Nietzsche  had  learned  from 
the  biological  theory  by  which,  in  1859, 
Charles  Darwin  (1809-1882)  had  explained 
the  origin  of  the  various  species  of  organic 
beings  "  by  means  "  (to  quote  the  title  of  his 
famous  book,  the  Origin  of  Species)  "  of 
natural  selection,  or  the  preservation  of 
favoured  races  in  the  struggle  for  life." 

The  stress  laid  by  Kant  in  his  third  Critique 
on  the  difficulty  of  accounting  for  organic 
phenomena  by  purely  mechanical  principles 
was  an  indication  of  the  fact  that  the  attention 
of  students  of  natural  science,  which  had  in 
the  seventeenth  century  been  concentrated  on 
problems  of  mechanics  and  physics,  had  during 
the  eighteenth  been  turning  towards  those 


232    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

connected  with  the  processes  of  life.  This 
shifting  of  interest  was  bound  to  bring  forward 
the  notion  of  development.  The  outstanding 
facts  about  organisms,  as  contrasted  with 
other  things,  are  those  of  growth  and  repro- 
duction. The  production  of  the  plant  or 
animal  from  the  seed  or  egg,  though  involving 
at  every  point  the  combination  and  separation 
of  atoms  or  molecules,  seems  throughout  to 
exhibit  a  tendency  toward  the  reproduction 
of  the  parent  form,  which  it  is  hard  to  describe 
except  in  terms  of  an  intention  or  design  to 
reproduce  it.  In  one  stage  of  such  a  process, 
the  organism  appears  very  different  from  what 
it  does  at  another ;  yet  we  consider  it  the  same 
organism  in  both  stages,  and  describe  it  as  it 
is  in  either  of  them  with  reference  to  what  it 
has  been  or  is  to  be  in  the  other.  In  tracing 
back  the  history  of  an  organism,  no  absolute 
break  of  continuity  is  to  be  found  even  at  the 
point  where,  in  our  common  way  of  speaking, 
the  organism  itself  has  been  produced  by 
another  or  by  the  union  of  two  other  organisms 
of  the  same  kind ;  among  what  we  regard  as 
the  lower  kinds  of  organism  it  is  a  matter  of 
no  small  difficulty  to  decide  where  a  new 
individual  life  begins.  It  is  obvious  that 
commonly  the  variations  between  parent  and 
offspring  are  confined  within  certain  limits; 
it  is  always  a  plant  or  animal  formed  on  the 
same  plan  as  its  parent  that  is  produced  from 


THE  SUCCESSORS  OF  KANT     233 

it,  although  it  may  differ  in  many  particulars. 
Yet  there  seems  to  be  a  resemblance  between 
some  kinds  which  is  far  closer  than  between 
others ;  and  it  is  often  difficult  to  decide  when 
two  organisms  are  of  different  though  closely 
resembling  kinds,  and  when  of  different  varie- 
ties of  the  same  kind.  The  experience  of 
gardeners  and  animal-breeders  sufficiently 
shows  that,  by  varying  the  conditions  of  life 
and  breeding  from  selected  individuals,  plants 
or  animals  of  very  widely  different  appearance 
and  habits  can  be  obtained  from  the  same 
stock.  This  was  bound  to  suggest  (along  with 
other  facts,  such  as  the  close  likeness  of  the 
immature  forms  of  some  organisms  to  the 
mature  forms  of  others)  that  the  line  between 
different  kinds  might  itself  not  be  impassable ; 
that  all  the  different  kinds  of  plants  and 
animals  might  be  descended  from  a  few 
ancestral  stocks  or  even  from  one. 

But  actual  evidence  of  the  origin  of  one 
kind  from  another  was  lacking;  the  time 
usually  supposed  to  have  clasped  since  the 
creation  of  the  world  was  too  short,  the  influ- 
ence of  tradition  too  strong — for  the  Aristo- 
telian philosophy  which  had  moulded  the 
scientific  language  of  Europe  had  assumed  a 
iAumber  of  eternally  distinct  kinds,  and  the 
jBible  had  described  an  original  creation  of  the 
plants  and  animals  after  their  kinds — to  make 
the  suggestion  seem  anything  but  a  hazardous 

II   2 


234    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

speculation.  It  was  otherwise  when  the 
researches  of  geologists  had  shown  the  earth 
to  be  far  older  than  had  been  supposed,  and 
when  Darwin  had  suggested  that,  just  as 
pigeon-fanciers  or  gardeners  succeeded  in 
producing  very  various  offspring  from  the 
same  stock  by  selecting  individuals  to  breed, 
so  varieties  might  be  produced  by  nature  on 
the  same  principle;  for  the  survival  in  the 
struggle  for  existence  which  took  place,  where 
there  was  not  food  enough  for  all,  of  those 
best  adapted  to  the  environment  would  bring 
it  about  that  in  each  generation  it  would  be 
those  of  a  species  which  had  certain  advantages 
over  their  fellows  that  would  live  to  reproduce 
their  kind  in  offspring  likely  to  inherit  in 
their  turn  any  characteristic  which  had  helped 
their  parents  to  survive.  Though  this  leaves 
unexplained  many  things  which  call  for 
explanation,  yet,  by  suggesting  a  possible 
means  by  which  one  species  could  have  come 
from  another,  it  at  once  brought  the  whole 
notion  out  of  the  region  of  mere  speculation 
into  that  of  scientific  hypothesis ;  and  it  may 
to-day  be  considered  as  an  accepted  conclusion 
of  natural  science  that  what  are  now  different 
species  and  do  not  breed  with  one  another  have 
yet  originated  from  common  ancestors,  and 
that  the  "  natural  selection "  described  by 
Darwin  has  at  least  been  a  very  important 
factor  in  the  orocess. 


THE  SUCCESSORS  OF  KANT     235 

Philosophy  had  not  waited  for  Darwin  to 
begin  thinking  upon  the  lines  suggested  by 
biological  study.  Hegel's  whole  philosophy, 
in  particular,  was  a  philosophy  of  development 
or  evolution,  since  it  taught  that  the  discovery 
of  the  complete  nature  of  reality,  or  the 
Absolute,  was  only  to  be  reached  by  tracing 
out  a  continuous  series  of  appearances,  each 
more  complex  than  its  predecessors  and  yet 
involved  in  them,  as  the  complex  organism  is 
developed  from  the  comparatively  simple 
germ.  Although  Hegel  was  premature  in 
supposing  his  knowledge  sufficient  to  exhibit 
this  series  as  fully  as  he  professed  to  do,  he 
had  shown  that  the  objects  of  experience 
cannot  be  regarded  in  isolation  from  one 
another;  that,  to  understand  the  nature  of 
anything,  it  is  no  less  necessary  to  understand 
what  it  is  not,  than  what  it  is ;  and  that  the 
utmost  unlikeness  between  two  things  does 
not  mean  that  the  consideration  of  them  can 
be  kept  apart,  any  more  than  evenness  in 
numbers  can  be  considered  apart  from  oddness 
or  curvature  in  lines  apart  from  straightness. 
But  this  thought  did  not  become  common 
property  until  Darwin  had  convinced  men  that 
great  unlikeness  in  organic  species  was  con- 
sistent with  a  common  descent.  Especially 
was  this  so  in  Darwin's  own  country,  where 
the  influence  of  German  thought  was  for  a 
long  while  little  felt. 


236    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

For  the  main  stream  of  English  thought  at 
the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century  and  be- 
ginning of  the  nineteenth  had  run  in  a  channel 
apart  from  that  of  continental  philosophy. 
From  the  days  of  Newton  and  Locke,  there 
had  existed  a  tradition  of  friendly  alliance 
between  devotion  to  the  natural  sciences  and 
acceptance  of  the  doctrine  that  our  knowledge 
of  the  external  world,  with  which  they  dealt, 
was  wholly  derived  from  the  senses.  To  admit 
the  presence  of  any  other  element  in  that 
knowledge  was,  it  was  suspected,  to  leave  room 
by  the  side  of  observation  and  experiment 
for  what  Bacon  had  called  "  anticipations  "  of 
the  facts.  But  it  had  been  the  lesson  taught 
by  Bacon,  loyalty  to  whom  as  the  national 
philosopher  had  come  to  be  regarded  almost 
as  a  point  of  honour,  that  we  must  never 
dictate  to  nature,  but  only  humbly  learn  of 
her.  To  men  trained  in  such  a  tradition,  the 
emphasis  laid  by  Kant  and  his  followers  on 
the  recognition  of  an  independent  activity 
of  the  mind  in  every  kind  of  knowledge  was 
not  calculated  to  recommend  their  systems. 
Hence,  although  the  German  philosophy  of 
the  late  eighteenth  and  early  nineteenth 
century  exercised,  especially  through  the  poet 
Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  (1772-1834)  and 
Thomas  Carlyle  (1795-1881),  no  inconsiderable 
influence  on  the  general  trend  of  cultivated 
thought  in  England,  it  was  long  before  it  came 


THE  SUCCESSORS  OF  KANT     237 

to  affect  to  any  great  extent  the  chief  repre- 
sentatives of  scientific  speculation.  The  prin- 
cipal work  of  these  had  lain  in  attempts  to 
follow  up  a  hint  of  Bacon's,  and  apply  to  the 
study  of  mind  the  methods  of  observation  and 
experiment  so  successfully  used  in  the  study 
of  external  nature.  They  treated  individual 
minds  as  though  composed  of  "  ideas,"  much 
as  the  physicist  or  chemist  treated  bodies 
as  composed  of  atoms  or  molecules;  and 
endeavoured  to  ascertain  the  laws  of  the 
combination  or  "  association  "  of  these  ideas, 
upon  which  the  various  processes  which  occur 
in  our  mental  life  might  be  supposed  to  de- 
pend. In  ordinary  conversation  "  association 
of  ideas  "  is  usually  invoked  to  explain  some- 
thing being  said  or  done  of  which  no  rational 
or  logical  justification  can  be  given  :  but,  in 
the  theories  of  the  thinkers  with  whom  we 
are  now  concerned,  rational  connexion  itself 
is  treated  as  merely  a  particular  kind  of  such 
association  which  is  often  observed  to  occur. 
Thus  we  have  already  found  Hume  explaining 
the  notion  of  a  cause  as  arising  from  an  often 
repeated  association  of  this  kind ;  and,  on  the 
principles  of  a  philosophy  for  which  isolated 
perceptions  are  the  sole  ultimate  constituents 
of  knowledge,  no  other  explanation  of  the 
facts  of  mind  was  possible. 

The  best  known  names  among  these  "  em- 
pirical   psychologists "    are   those    of   David 


238    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

Hartley,  a  contemporary  of  Hume  (1705-1757) 
and,  in  a  later  generation,  ol  James  Mill,  the 
historian  of  British  India  (1773-1836),  his 
son  John  Stuart  Mill  (1806-1873),  and  Alex- 
ander Bain,  Professor  at  Aberdeen  (1818- 
1903).  In  the  interval  between  Hartley  and 
the  elder  Mill,  two  Scottish  professors,  Reid, 
who  has  already  been  mentioned,  and  his 
pupil  Dugald  Stewart  (1753-1828),  had  de- 
voted themselves  to  the  study  of  the  operations 
of  the  mind,  without  questioning  the  possi- 
bility of  isolating  them  like  physical  processes 
for  the  purposes  of  observation,  but  also 
without  denying  to  the  mind  the  possession  of 
principles  of  its  .own,  independent  of  what  it 
acquires  through  perception,  and  without 
supposing  that  "  association  "  was  the  only 
clue  to  the  understanding  of  what  takes  place 
in  it.  These  were  the  founders  of  what  was 
called  the  Scottish  school  of  philosophy,  of 
which  Sir  William  Hamilton,  of  whom  we  have 
already  spoken,  was  the  most  eminent  member. 
The  general  characteristic  of  this  school  was 
a  confidence  hi  the  trustworthiness  of  the 
common  sense  and  instinctive  convictions  of 
mankind,  which  made  them  the  opponents  of 
scepticism,  whether  as  to  the  existence  of  a 
reality  independent  of  our  perception,  or  as 
to  the  presence  of  a  moral  quality  in  actions 
independent  of  their  pleasantness  or  utility  to 
the  doer. 


THE  SUCCESSORS  OF  KANT     239 

On  the  other  hand,  those  who  held  that 
we  had  no  source  of  knowledge  but  sen- 
sations or  feelings  were  naturally  disposed 
to  see  in  morality  nothing  but  variously 
compounded  feelings  of  pleasure  and  pain. 
So  arose  what  came  to  be  called  Utilitarian- 
ism, of  which  the  chief  exponents  were  Jeremy 
Bentham  (1747-1832)  and  John  Stuart  Mill, 
which  was  defined  as  the  doctrine  that  a  good 
action  is  one  which  conduces  to  the  greatest 
happiness  of  the  greatest  number.  This  was 
a  view  which  recommended  itself  to  men  whose 
chief  interest  lay  in  public  service;  and  it 
actually  proved  highly  effective  in  promoting 
legal  and  social  reform  in  England.  But  its 
theoretical  basis  was  scarcely  sufficient  to 
support  its  superstructure.  The  "  greatest 
happiness "  was  explained  to  mean  the 
greatest  amount  of  pleasant  feeling  and  least 
amount  of  painful;  and  it  was  assumed 
that  the  pleasure  of  the  greatest  possible 
number  of  persons  could  be  treated  as  a 
maximum  of  pleasant  feeling,  although  not 
felt  as  such  by  any  individual.  The  principle 
which  was  put  forward  as  the  basis  of  the 
doctrine,  that  a  man  could  desire  nothing  but 
pleasure,  that  is,  no  doubt,  his  own  pleasure, 
was  reconciled  with  the  recommendation  to 
pursue  the  pleasure  of  others  by  the  rule 
"  that  everyone  was  to  count  for  one  and  no 
more  than  one,"  a  rule  which  seemed  to 


240    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

appeal  for  acceptance  to  quite  a  different 
kind  of  desire  from  one  for  one's  own  pleasure. 
The  principle  of  "  association  "  was  called  in 
to  explain  the  appearance  of  a  love  of  virtue 
for  its  own  sake ;  a  man  who  had  learned  that 
virtue  was  the  best  means  of  obtaining 
pleasure  might  come  to  forget  the  end  in  the 
means,  as  the  miser  comes  to  care  for  money 
without  thought  of  its  uses. 

The  theory  was  manifestly  shifted  from  its 
original  basis  when  John  Stuart  Mill,  in 
expounding  it,  said  that  one  must  take  account 
of  quality  in  pleasure  as  well  as  quantity ;  for 
this  made  it  plain  that  something  could  be 
desired  in  an  action  besides  its  pleasantness. 
But,  from  first  to  last,  its  defenders  were 
opposed  to  any  theory  of  an  intuitive  percep- 
tion in  actions  of  a  moral  quality  independent 
of  the  production  of  pleasant  feeling ;  just  as 
they  were  opposed  to  the  recognition  in 
knowledge  of  an  intuitive  certainty  of  any- 
thing beyond  the  fact  of  present  or  past 
sensations.  One  difficulty  which  these  views 
had  to  face  was  that  of  explaining  the  actual 
strength  of  conviction  both  as  to  what  was 
right  and  wrong,  and  as  to  the  truth  of 
logical  and  mathematical  axioms  from  an 
experience  in  each  individual  of  the  con- 
stant tendency  of  certain  actions  to  produce 
pleasure,  or  of  the  constancy  of  certain  results 
of  measurement  and  enumeration,  even  when 


THE   SUCCESSORS   OF  KANT      241 

this  experience  was  supplemented  by  the 
influence  of  early  teaching  to  the  same  effect. 
A  way  out  of  this  difficulty  was  suggested  by 
Darwin's  theory  of  the  origin  of  species,  which 
called  attention  to  the  facts  of  heredity,  and 
traced  the  pedigree  of  human  beings  to 
organisms  which  had  existed  innumerable 
ages  before  the  appearance  of  men  on  the 
earth. 

The  suggestion  was  made  by  Herbert 
Spencer  that  the  intuitive  convictions  of 
individuals,  which  believers  in  repeated  per- 
ceptions as  the  sole  source  of  knowledge  had 
found  it  so  hard  to  account  for,  might  result 
from  the  inheritance  of  an  ancestral  experience 
of  such  perceptions,  going  back  to  very  remote 
ages.  This  seemed  to  promise  a  reconciliation 
of  two  opposed  views  of  knowledge  and  mora- 
lity which  had  seemed  irreconcilable.  But 
the  reconciliation  (even  if  there  had  not  been 
more  than  a  doubt  of  the  fact  of  the  inheritance 
of  the  results  of  individual  reflection)  was 
rather  apparent  than  real.  The  difficulties  of 
those  who  could  not  be  satisfied  with'  deriving 
knowledge  and  the  moral  consciousness  from 
repeated  perceptions  were  only  thrown  further 
back;  and  the  argument  that  no  amount  of 
experience  of  this  kind  could  justify  state- 
ments absolutely  universal  remained  precisely 
where  it  was  before. 

A  more  serious  challenge  to  empiricism  and 


242    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

utilitarianism  came  from  students  of  Kant 
and  Hegel,  such  as  Thomas  Hill  Green  of 
Balliol  College,  Oxford  (1836-1882),  in  whose 
judgment  English  philosophy  since  Hume  had 
gone  astray  through  not  realizing  that  Hume's 
scepticism  had  shown  no  further  progress  to 
be  possible  along  the  lines  of  sensationalism, 
either  in  the  study  of  knowledge  or  in  that  of 
morality.  Natural  science,  which  the  empiri- 
cal school  of  thinkers  had  always  believed 
to  support  their  views,  was  really,  it  was 
pointed  out,  inconsistent  with  them}  since  it 
implied  the  existence  of  objects  which,  though 
they  might  be  felt,  could  not  be  reduced  to  a 
combination  of  feelings.  In  the  same  way, 
the  assumption  that  a  common  good  or 
happiness  to  be  aimed  at  by  individuals  could 
be  explained  as  a  mere  aggregate  of  feelings 
which  were  in  their  own  nature  momentary 
was,  so  it  was  argued,  illegitimate.  It  was 
necessary  to  suppose,  over  and  above  these 
momentary  sensations  and  feelings,  a  perma- 
nent self  or  mind  to  experience  them,  to 
remember  and  think  of  them  when  they  are 
past,  to  treat  them  not  merely  as  though,  like 
the  moments  of  time,  each  perished  hi  turn  as 
the  next  was  born,  but  as  coexisting  parts  of 
one  experience.  They  did  not  contend  that 
there  were  real  objects  independently  of  uch 
a  permanent  self;  they  considered  Berkeley 
right  in  holding  that  the  external  world  only 


THE  SUCCESSORS  OF  KANT     243 

existed  as  an  object  for  a  mind;  but  they 
thought  the  mind  in  question  must  not  be  a 
mind  merely  perceiving  what  is  here  and  now ; 
it  must  be  a  mind  which  can  know  what  is 
everywhere  and  always  true. 

Now  there  was  an  ambiguity  in  this  lan- 
guage, which' might  seem  to  refer  either  to  the 
individual  mind,  which  treats  its  successive 
experiences  as  all  its  own,  but  as  none  of  them 
another  individual's;  or  to  the  mind  which 
may  be  said  to  think  in  each  individual,  and 
for  which  all  individual  experiences  with  their 
objects  make  up  one  real  world.  What  was 
the  relation  of  this  universal  mind,  which 
Green  sometimes  called  God,  to  the  individual 
minds  which  were  sometimes  spoken  of  by  him 
as  its  "  reproductions  "  ?  It  was  not  wonder- 
ful that  there  were  critics  who  considered 
that  a  philosophy  of  this  kind  did  less  than 
justice  to  individual  personality  either  in  God 
or  in  men.  The  criticism  probably  seemed  less 
serious  to  those  at  whom  it  was  levelled, 
because  they  were  disposed  to  follow  Hegel  in 
thinking  that  the  conception  of  one's  indivi- 
dual self  as  quite  separate  from  other  indivi- 
dual selves  was  a  conception  which,  if  pressed 
onesidedly,  would  prove,  like  all  other  con- 
ceptions, to  require  supplementing  by  the 
opposite  thought  that  only  in  its  mutual 
relations  with  other  selves  can  a  self  possess  an 
individual  character,  and  so  to  lead  on  to  the 


244    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

higher  conception  of  all  these  mutually  related 
selves  as  organs  of  a  single  mind  or  conscious- 
ness, operative  in  and  through  them  all,  which 
may  be  called  divine.  To  others,  however, 
this  notion  of  a  universal  mind  seemed  a  mere 
abstraction  from  particulars,  like  the  general 
notion  of  a  hand  or  an  eye.  They  did  not 
consider  the  difference  made  by  the  fact  that 
the  mind,  when  seeking  knowledge,  always 
strives  to  get  rid  of  individual  peculiarities 
and  apprehend  the  truth  as  it  is  and  as  any 
mind  that  was  performing  its  functions  aright 
would  find  it  to  be.  They,  therefore,  held 
that  separate  individual  minds  were  all  that 
had  to  be  considered;  but  they  shared  with 
those  they  criticized  the  "  idealism  "  which 
could  not  conceive  of  objects  existing  inde- 
pendently of  any  mind.  Such  a  view  has 
been  called  "  personal  idealism." 

A  further  extension  of  the  tendency  to  assert 
the  independence  of  individual  minds  is  to  be 
seen  in  the  theory  which,  under  the  name  of 
"  pragmatism,"  asserts  that  the  only  test  of 
truth  is  to  be  found  in  its  bearing  upon  human 
interests  and  purposes;  a  theory  which  was 
maintained  at  the  beginning  of  the  twentieth 
century  by  the  American  William  James 
(1842-1910),  a  celebrated  psychologist,  and  a 
brilliant  and  inspiring  writer  and  teacher  of 
philosophy.  At  a  considerably  earlier  date, 
the  sharp  distinction  drawn  by  Kant  between 


THE  SUCCESSORS  OF  KANT     245 

the  speculative  and  the  practical  reason  had 
given  birth  to  a  distinction  of  "  judgments  of 
existence  "  and  "  judgments  of  value  " ;  and 
religious  dogmas  which  seemed  inconsistent 
with  the  conclusions  of  natural  science  or  of 
historical  research  were  reckoned,  as  also  were 
statements  which  affirmed  the  beauty  or 
ugliness  of  objects,  among  "  judgments  of 
value  " ;  they  were  affirmations  of  what  was 
good  or  bad,  not  of  what  did  or  did  not  exist 
in  a  world  which  was  supposed  indifferent  to 
our  estimate  of  its  worth.  "  Pragmatism  " 
may  be  said  to  treat  all  judgments  as  "  judg- 
ments of  value,"  and  to  leave  none  that 
assert  a  reality  independent  of  our  estimate  of 
its  worth. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  such  extreme 
developments  of  "  idealism  "  should  be  met 
by  a  movement  critical  of  all  idealism,  and 
concerned  to  reassert  the  existence  of  objects 
independent  of  our  perception  or  knowledge  of 
them.  Such  a  view  is  often  called  "  realism  " 
in  opposition  to  "  idealism" ;  this  is,  of  course, 
quite  a  different  sense  of  the  word  from  that  in 
which  it  was  used  in  reference  to  mediaeval 
philosophy  as  the  opposite  to  "  nominalism." 
Kant  himself  objected  to  his  own  philosophy 
being  called  idealism  and  insisted  that  we  must 
recognize  beside  the  phenomena  we  perceive  a 
"  thing  in  itself  "  which  we  do  not  perceive,  and 
of  which}  therefore,  we  can  have  no  positive 


246    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

knowledge.  Nor  since  the  time  of  Kant  have 
there  ever  been  lacking  philosophers — like 
Johann  Friedrich  Herbart  (1776-1841),  who 
was  a  successor  of  Kant  at  Konigsberg,  and 
is  celebrated  as  a  writer  on  the  theory  of 
education — to  maintain  against  the  prevalent 
idealism  the  necessity  of  acknowledging  the 
existence  in  the  world  of  something  not  of  the 
nature  of  mind;  although  the  question  what 
the  nature  of  this  something  may  be  has  been 
very  variously  answered.  So  great  has  been 
the  influence  of  Kant  that  there  have  been  few 
whole-hearted  defenders  of  the  view,  which 
the  natural  sciences  and  common  sense  may  be 
said  to  take  for  granted,  that  space  and  tune 
belong  to  things  as  they  are  in  themselves 
and  not  merely  as  perceived  by  us.  Some  who 
will  not  admit  this  of  space  have  allowed  it 
of  time;  among  them  may  be  mentioned  a 
German  thinker  who  has  exercised  no  small 
influence  on  English-speaking  students  of 
philosophy,  Hermann  Lotze  (1817-1881).  • 

Herbert  Spencer  professed  to  be  a  realist; 
but,  while  he  usually  thought  as  one,  he  com- 
bined with  his  realism  the  doctrine,  which  was 
Hume's,  that  the  distinction  we  make  between 
the  real  and  the  imaginary  can  be  reduced  to 
that  between  more  and  less  vivid  ideas ;  while 
in  his  First  Principles  he  took  up  the  posi- 
tion that  ultimate  reality  is  unknowable,  and 
phenomena  alone  are  knowable.  It  must  be 


THE  SUCCESSORS  OF  KANT     247 

remembered  that  though  materialism,  the 
doctrine  that  matter  is  the  sole  reality,  is 
not  consistent  with  the  "  idealism "  which 
holds  it  to  be  of  the  essence  of  material  things 
to  be  apprehended  by  mind,  yet  "  realism " 
need  not  be  materialism,  but  may  admit  as  alike 
included  within  one  real  world,  both  bodies, 
situated  or  moving  in  space  and  changing  in 
tune,  and  minds,  not  in  space  and  not  so  wholly 
hi  time  but  that  they  can  distinguish  them- 
selves from  their  successive  states  and  appre- 
hend truths  to  which  the  lapse  of  time  makes 
no  difference. 

The  thought  of  the  nineteenth  century  has 
been  dominated,  though  not  at  all  times  or 
places  equally,  by  the  conception  of  develop- 
ment or  evolution,  which  is  congenial  to  the 
biological  and  historical  studies  characteristic 
of  the  period,  and  which  has  greatly  promoted 
their  progress  by  introducing  a  principle 
of  arrangement  of  which  little  notice  had  been 
taken  in  the  preceding  age,  whose  predominant 
scientific  interest  lay  hi  the  direction  of 
physics.  Hence  the  attraction  of  a  programme 
like  that  of  Herbert  Spencer's  "  Synthetic 
Philosophy,"  which  promised  to  show  how  this 
conception  could  exhibit  all  the  complex 
phenomena  of  nature  and  mind,  from  atoms 
up  to  societies,  as  necessarily  resulting  from 
one  simple,  principle,  the  "  persistence  of 
force,"  by  a  continuous  process,  each  step  of 


248    A  HISTORY    OF   PHILOSOPHY 

which  was  marked  by  an  increasing  com- 
plexity, but  also  by  an  increasing  coherence. 
Although  Spencer's  success  in  carrying  out  his 
programme  may  be  doubted;  although  con- 
fusions, inconsistencies,  gaps  in  the  argument, 
failure  to  grapple  with  relevant  questions  of 
the  greatest  philosophical  importance,  may  be 
plausibly  alleged  against  him;  yet  it  cannot 
be  denied  that  it  was  he,  more  than  any  other 
thinker,  who  made  current  among  the  English- 
speaking  peoples  the  conception  of  development 
or  evolution — a  conception  which  Spencer, 
indeed,  carried  over  with  too  light  a  heart  from 
the  organic  to  the  inorganic  world,  but  of 
which  the  importance  at  least  in  respect  of  the 
former  can  hardly  be  overrated. 

We  may  illustrate  the  difference  made  by  it 
to  our  ways  of  thinking  by  showing  that,  while 
the  eighteenth  century  was  apt  to  look  upon 
society  as  a  contract,  and  forget  that  it 
differed  from  other  contracts  by  the  fact  that 
it  is  neither  made  nor  changed  in  accordance 
with  a  design  deliberately  formed  by  any 
individual  mind,  nor  yet  can  be  dissolved  at 
the  mere  will  of  the  parties,  the  nineteenth 
century  came  to  look  upon  it  as  an  organism, 
and  often  to  forget  that,  while  it  resembles  an 
organism  in  its  continuous  change  in  a  direc- 
tion not  designed  by  any  individual  member 
of  the  society,  but  yet  in  accordance  with 
ascertainable  laws  tending  to  the  preservation 


THE  SUCCESSORS  OF  KANT     249 

of  the  type,  it  depends  nevertheless  at  every 
moment  for  its  existence  upon  the  conscious- 
ness in  the  members  of  their  mutual  relation, 
and  in  that  respect  resembles  a  contract. 

But  the  conception  of  development,  which 
is  borrowed  from  the  sphere  of  organic  life, 
requires  for  a  final  judgment  upon  its  precise 
scope  a  clearer  conception  of  what  is  meant 
by  life  than  can  be  said  as  yet  to  have 
been  obtained.  Philosophy,  always  concerned 
to  define  distinctions,  has  before  it  the  problem 
of  the  relation  of  life  to  mere  mechanism 
on  the  one  hand,  and  to  intelligence  on  the 
other.  There  seems  to  be  in  life  something 
which  mechanism  cannot  explain,  and  which, 
as  Kant  said,  we  naturally  interpret  in  terms 
of  an  intelligence  aiming  at  an  end;  but  it  is 
exceedingly  difficult  to  satisfy  oneself  where 
this  intelligence  is,  whether  within  or  without 
the  living  being  concerned,  and  if  (as  to  the 
present  generation  seems  more  probable) 
within  it,  how  it  can  be  there,  as  it  often 
appears  to  be,  without  a  consciousness  of  the 
end  on  its  part.  The  existence  and  importance 
in  our  lives  of  processes  which,  while  continu- 
ous with  consciousness,  do  not  seem  to  be 
themselves  conscious,  have  been  emphasized 
by  the  psychological  investigations  which  in 
recent  times  have  been  so  zealously  under- 
taken; but  the  subject  is  one  on  which  much 
thought  must  yet  be  bestowed  before  its 


250    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

real  bearing  on  the  great  problems  of  philo- 
sophy can  be  ascertained.  It  is  already  clear 
that  the  discussion  of  the  nature  of  life  will 
pose  philosophy  with  a  new  form  of  the  old 
questions  of  the  existence  of  matter,  of  the 
nature  of  individuality,  of  the  one  and  the 
many.  It  may  seem  and  has  seemed,  even 
to  some  philosophers,  that  philosophy  makes 
no  progress ;  that  it  is  ever  revolving  the  same 
old  problems,  "  ever  learning  and  never  coming 
to  a  knowledge  of  the  truth." 

But  such  a  view  is  inadequate.  Philosophy 
does  not,  it  is  true,  progress,  like  the  sciences, 
by  the  accumulation  of  new  facts  belonging  to 
its  own  special  department.  But  the  progress 
of  the  sciences  is  at  the  same  time  the  progress 
of  philosophy.  The  old  problems  remain, 
because  the  world  remains  in  its  structure  the 
same;  but  in  each  generation,  so  far  as 
forgetfulness  of  the  lessons  of  the  past  does 
not  make  it  necessary  to  go  over  old  ground 
again  (and  the  individual  student  must 
always  do  this  in  order  to  place  himself  on  the 
level  of  his  age),  the  philosopher  may  survey 
the  old  prospect  from  a  point  whence  he  can 
see  how  it  lies  in  relation  to  other  places  which 
from  a  lower  elevation  were  not  visible  to- 
gether with  it.  We  may,  perhaps,  carry  the 
metaphor  further,  and  admit  that,  as  he  goes 
higher  and  higher,  some  details  once  clear  will 
be  lost  to  view;  and  compare  the  study  of  the 


THE  SUCCESSORS  OF  KANT     251 

history  of  philosophy,  not  in  a  compendium 
like  this  but  in  the  actual  works  of  the  great 
thinkers  of  the  past,  to  a  telescope  whereby 
he  may  make  good  his  loss,  and  enable  himself 
to  come  as  near  as  may  be  to  answering 
Plato's  description  of  the  ideal  philosopher— 
"  the  spectator  of  all  time  and  of  all  existence." 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

THIS  list  of  books  will  only  include  histories  of  philosophy ; 
but  the  study  of  these  cannot  be  profitably  pursued  apart 
from  direct  study  of  the  principal  thinkers  of  whom  they 
treat. 

I.  GENERAL  HISTORIES  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

The  History  of  Philosophy,  by  Dr.  J.  E.  Erdmann.  English 
translation  edited  by  Prof.  W.  G.  Hough,  Minneapolis, 
U.S.A.,  in  3  vols.  (vol.  i.,  Ancient  and  Mediaeval;  vol.  ii., 
Modern;  vol.  in.,  After  Hegel — this  last  volume  deals 
only  with  German  philosophy).  Macmillan,  1890-1. 

A  History  of  Philosophy  from  Tholes  to  the  Present  Time, 
by  Dr.  F.  Ueberweg.  Translated  by  G.  E.  Morris, 
Michigan,  U.S.A.,  in  2  vols.  Hodder  &  Stoughton, 
1885.  (This  is  rather  a  book  of  reference  than  a  book 
for  reading  straight  through.) 

Two  older  books,  by  distinguished  authors,  will  be  found 
interesting.  A  Biographical  History  of  Philosophy,  by 
G.  H.  Lewes,  in  4  vols.,  1845-6  (there  are  several  later 
editions),  and  Moral  and  Metaphysical  Philosophy,  by 
F.  D.  Maurice,  in  2  vols.,  1872.  The  former  is  inspired  by 
a  desire  to  prove,  in  the  spirit  of  Comte,  the  impossibility 
of  philosophy  as  a  science  of  ultimate  reality;  the  latter  by 
a  desire  to  show  that  philosophy  culminates  in  Christian 
theology. 

As  an  unpretending  account  of  the  general  history  of 
philosophy  on  a  smaller  scale,  A  Student's  History  of  Philo- 
sophy, by  A.  K.  Rogers  (Macmillan  Co.,  1901),  may  be 
recommended. 

252 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  253 

II.  ANCIENT  PHILOSOPHY 

The  English  translations  of  the  different  sections  of  DP, 
E.  Zeller's  History  of  Greek  Philosophy,  published  by  Long* 
mans,  1868-97,  under  the  titles  Pre-Socratic  Schools,  Socrates 
and  the  Socratic  Schools,  Plato  and  the  Older  Academy,  Aristotle 
and  the  Earlier  Peripatetics  (2  vols.),  Stoics,  Epicureans  and 
Sceptics,  History  of  Eclecticism  in  Greek  Philosophy. 

Greek  Thinkers,  by  Theodor  Gomperz.     English  translation. 

In  4  vols.    Scribner's,  1901-12. 
Greek  Philosophy  (Thales    to  Plato),   by   Prof.   J.    Burnet. 

Macmillan,  1914. 
The  Evolution  of   Theology   in  the   Greek  Philosophers,   by 

EdwardCaird.    (Gifford  Lectures.)    2  vols.    Macmillan, 

1904. 
The  Development  of  Greek  Philosophy,  by  Robert  Adamson. 

Blackwood,  1908. 
The  Religious  Teachers  of  Greece,  by  James  Adam.     Scrib« 

ner's,  1908. 

III.  MODERN  PHILOSOPHY 

A  History  of  Modern  Philosophy,  by  Dr.  Harold  Hoffdingj 
by  B.  E.  Meyer.  2  vols.  Macmillan,  1900. 

The  Development  of  Modern  Philosophy,  etc.,  by  Robert 
Adamson.  Vol.  i.  Blackwood,  1903. 

IV.  SPECIAL  BRANCHES 

History  of  Materialism,  by  F.  A.  Lange.  English  translation 
by  E.  C.  Thomas.  In  3  vols.  London,  1879. 

The  Philosophy  of  Religion  on  the  Basis  of  its  History  (sinco 
Spinoza),  by  Dr.  Otto  Pfleiderer.  English  translation. 
In  4  vols.  Vols.  i  and  ii.  Williams  &  Norgate,  1886-7. 

A  History  of  Esthetic,  by  Dr.  Bernard  Bosanquet.  Mac- 
millan, 1892. 

Aiticle  on  Ethics  in  Encyclopaedia  Britannica  (llth  ed.),  by 
the  late  Prof.  Sidgwick  and  the  Rev.  H.  H.  Williams. 


254 


INDEX 


Outlines  of  the  History  of  Ethics  for  English  Readers,  by  Henry 
Sidgwick.  Macmillan,  1888  (incorporating  his  part  of 
the  Encycl.  Brit,  article  above  mentioned). 

Types  of  Ethical  (Theory,  by  James  Martineau.  2  vols. 
Oxford,  1886. 

A  History  of  European  Thought  in  the  Nineteenth  Century t  by 
J.  T.  Merz.  4  vols.  Blackwood  1896-1912. 


INDEX 


ABELABD,  117  fit.,  122 
Absolute,  the,  213,  216  ff.,  235 
Academy,  the,  47,  87,  186 
Albertus  Magnus,  135 
Alcibiades,  23  f . 
Alexander  the  Great,  58,  83 
Alfred,  King,  113 
Anaxagoras,  43  f .,  81 
Anaximander,  14 
Anaximenes,  14 
Anselm,  150 
Antisthenes,  71 
Archimedes,  65,  114 
Aristippus,  70  £. 
Aristophanes,  18,  21  f .,  25 
Aristotle,  47  ff.,  68,  81,  83,  86,  89, 

101  f.,   104,   114,   116  ff.,    129, 

132,   137,  142,   145,  160,  201, 

233 

Arnold,  Matthew,  53,  76 
Atomism,  63  ff.,  109,  166,  176  f . 
Augustine,  94,  110  £.,  124,  145, 

156  f. 
Averroes,  119 

Bacon,  Francis,  8,  12,  32,  63  f. 

134  ff.,  176,  225,  236  f . 
Bacon,  Roger,  135 
Bain,  238 
Bentham,  239 

Berkeley,  177  ff.,  186, 190,  223 
Bernard  of  Clairvaux,  118 
Boethiua,  112  ff. 
Boswell,  180 
Boyle,  138, 177 
Browning,  84  f . 


Bruno,  142 

Buddha,  Buddhism,  37,  229 

Burke,  200 

Burnet,  Prof.  J.,  10 

Bury,  Prof.  J.  B.,  85 

Butler,  199 

Carlyle,  58,  236 
Cassiodorus,  112  f . 
Categorical  Imperative,  107 
Categories,  192 
Charles  the  Great,  116 
Christianity,  88  ff.,  117  flf.,  127. 

133,  141  f.,  150,  218,  231 
Clarke,  Samuel,  198,  200 
Cleanthes,  87 
Coleridge,  236 
Columbus,  133 
Comte,  212 
Conceptualism,  126 
Copernicus,  141,  188 
Cratylus,  16  f. 
Critias,  23 

Critical  Philosophy,  187,  190 
Cudworth,  176,  198,  200 
Cynics,  71  f . 
Cyrenaics,  71  f . 

Dante,  97, 120 
Darwin,  231,  234  f .,  241 
Democritus,  15,  63  ff.,  109,  152, 

166 
Descartes,    144  ff.,    167,    171  f. 

174  ff.,  178,  186,  195 
Dialectic,  41  f.,  221,  224 
Diogenes,  71 


INDEX 


255 


Dionysius  the  Areopagite,  07 
Dogmatism,  187,  190,  196,  214, 

219 
Duns  Scotua,  125  f . 

Eleatics,  38  fif.,  63  f . 
Empedocles,  53 
Enlightenment,  201 
Epictetus,  75,  93 
Epicurua,    Epicureanism,    66  fl., 

72,  85  flf.,  91  f .,  101, 109, 176 
Eratosthenes,  65 
Euclid,  65,  114 

Fichte,  214  ff.,  218 

Galileo,  141  flf.,  152, 162 
Gardner,  Prof.  P.,  74 
Gassendi,  176 
Geulincx,  155 
Gilbert,  William,  140 
Gnosticism,  96 
Green,  T.  H.,  242  f . 

Hamilton,  Sir  W.,  212,  238 

Hartley,  237  f . 

Harvey,  140 

Hegel,  217  fif.,  230,  235,  242  f. 

Hellenism,  83  f . 

Heraclitus,  15  ff.,  25,  29,  38 1.,  69 

Herbart,  246 

Hipparchus,  65 

Hobbes,  133, 146, 152  f.,  176, 198 

Hume,  183  ff.,  192,  199,  237  f . 

Idealism,  223  f . 
Induction,  138  f . 

James,  William,  244 
Jesus  Christ,  77,  90,  92  ff.,  104  f. 
John,  Gospel  of,  94 
Johnson,  Samuel,  180 
Judaism,  88  ff.,  98,  122 
Justin  Martyr,  93 
Justinian,  47 

Kant,  186  ff.,  213  ff.,  218  f.,  222  f., 
226f.,  229,  231,  236,  242, 
244  ff.,  249 

Kepler,  152 

Leibnitz,  163  ff.,  173,  187,  191, 

198 
Locke,  171  flf.,  182  f.,  185  f.,  191, 

198,  201,  209,  236 
Lotze,  246 
Lucretius,  69 

Macchiavelli,  133 


Mahommedanism,  119  f . 
Maimonides,  122 
Malebranche,  156  f . 
Mansel,  212 

Marcus  Aurelius,  75  f.,  87 
Marett,  Mr.  R.  R.Jll 
Masham,  Lady,  176 
Maxwell,  J.  Clerk,  66 
Mill,  James,  238 
Mill,  J.  S.,  139,  238  ff. 
Murray,  Prof.  G.,  85 
Mysticism,  103, 110 

Napoleon,  214 

Neoplatonism,  94  flf.,  100,  201 
Nero,  75 

Newton,  152,  162,  198,  236 
Nietzsche,  230  f . 

Occasionalism,  155  flf.,  169,  172 
Ontological     Argument,     147  f .. 

150  f .,  171,  196,  209,  219  f . 
Orphicism,  33,  37  f .,  83 

Parmenides,  38  flf.,  106 

Paul,  St.,  68,  70,  88,  90,  97,  121 

Pelagius,  110 

Pericles,  42 

Peter,  St.,  121 

Phenomena,  167,  188,  190,  205 

Philo,  91 

Plato,  7,  9, 12, 17  fif.,  22  ff.,'28  ff., 
42,  44  ff.,  53 f.,  59  f.,  63,  65,  68, 
70,  85,  87,  89,  91,  93  f .,  100  ff., 
Ill,  113  f .,  124,  145,  191,  194, 
219,  221,  223,  251 

Plotinus,  100  ff.,  110,  114 

Porphyry,  114  ff. 

Positivism,  212 

Pragmatism,  244  f . 

Predicates,  114  f . 

Price,  200,  204  f . 

Ptolemy,  142 

Pythagoras,  Pythagoreanlsm, 
32  ff.,  37  f.,  82  f. 

Quadrivium,  113 

Raphael,  48 
Realism,  126,  245  ff. 
Reid,  186,  238 
Rousseau,  202 

Scepticism,  86  f .,  185  f.,  188 

Schelling,  216  ff. 

Schiller,  203 

Scholasticism,  118,  121,  125,  137* 

150,  201 
Schopenhauer,  227  flf. 


256 


INDEX 


Seneca,  75  ff.,  87  f .,  93 

Shaftesbury,  198  f . 

Shakespeare,  76  f . 

Shelley.  224 

Smith,  Adam,  199  f. 

Socrates,  7, 18  ff.,  32,  38,  42  ff.,  46, 

61,  63,  70,  81,  93,  106, 114,  116 
Sophists,  25  ff.,  118 
Spencer,  Herbert,  212,  241,  246  ff. 
Spinoza,  157  ff.,  168  f .,  183  f .,  201, 

216 

Stewart,  Dugald,  238 
Stoics,  67  ff.,  72  ff.,  85  ff.,  91  ff., 

101  f .,  108  f .,  113 
Syllogism,  61  £.,  137,  139 

Teleology,  55,  64  f . 
Tennyson,  230 
Thales,  14,  81 


Theodoric,  112 
Thomas  Aquinas,  120  ff. 
Trinity,  98,  101,  104  ff.,  116,  127, 

218 
Triviran,  112 

Upanishads,  229 
Utilitarianism,  289  ff. 

Voltaire,  170 

William  of  Ockham,  125  ff. 
Wisdom  of  Solomon,  69,  91 
Wolff,  187 

Xenophon,  18  ff.,  23 

Zeno  of  Elea,  40  ff. 
Zeno  the  Stoic,  67,  87 


THE  HOME  UNIVERSITY 

LIBRARY  of  Modern  Knowledge 

Is  made  up  of  absolutely  new  books  by  leading  authorities 

The  editors  are  Professors  Gilbert  Murray,  H.  A.  L. 

Fisher f  W.  T.  Brewster  and  J.  Arthur  Thomson. 


Cloth  bound,  good  paper,  clear  type,  256  pages  per 
volume ,  bibliographies,  indices,  also  maps  or  illustra- 
tions, where  needed.    Each  complete  Qf\  -onf.c 
and  sold  separately.     Per  volume,  5/U  CcIllS. 


LITERATURE  AND  ART. 

[Order 
Number] 

73.  EURIPIDES  AND  HIS  AGE.  By  Gilbert  Murray,  Regius  Pro- 
fessor  of  Greek,  Oxford. 

101.  DANTE.  By  Jefferson  B.  Fletcher.  Columbia  University.  An  inter- 
pretation of  Dante  and  his  teaching  from  his  writings. 

2.  SHAKESPEARE.  By  John  Masefield.  "One  of  the  very  few  in- 
dispensable  adjuncts  to  a  Shakespearean  Library."— Boston 
Transcript. 

81.  CHAUCER  AND  HIS  TIMES.  By  Grace  E.  Hadow,  Lecturer  Lady 
Margaret  Hall,  Oxford;  Late  Reader,  Bryn  Mawr. 

97.    MILTON.    By  John  Bailey. 

59.  DR.  JOHNSON  AND  HIS  CIRCLE.  By  John  Bailey.  Johnson's  life, 
character,  works,  and  friendships  are  surveyed;  and  there  is  a  notable 
vindication  of  the  "Genius  of  Boswell." 

83.  WILLIAM  MORRIS:  HIS  WORK  AND  INFLUENCE.  By  A.  Chit- 
ton  Brock,  author  of  "Shelley:  The  Man  and  the  Poet."  William  Morris 
believed  that  the  artist  should  toil  for  love  of  his  work  rather  than  the 
gain  of  his  employer,  and  so  he  turned  from  making  works  of  art  to 
remaking  society. 

75.    SHELLEY,  GODWIN  AND  THEIR  CIRCLE.    By  H.  N.  Brailsford. 

The  influence  of  the  French  Revolution  on  England. 


70.  ANCIENT  ART  AND  RITUAL.  By  Jane  E.  Harrison,  LL.  D.,  D. 
Litt.  "One  of  the  100  most  important  books  of  1913."—  New  York 
Times  Review. 

45.  MEDIEVAL  ENGLISH  LITERATURE.  By  W.  P.  Ker,  Professor 
of  English  Literature,  University  College,  London.  "One  of  the 
soundest  scholars.  His  style  is  effective,  simple,  yet  never  dry." — 
The  Athenaeum. 

87.  THE  RENAISSANCE.  By  Edith  Sichel,  author  of  "Catherine  de 
Medici,"  "Men  and  Women  of  the  French  Renaissance." 

89.    ELIZABETHAN  LITERATURE.     By   J.   M.   Robertson,   M.   P., 

author  of  "Montaigne  and  Shakespeare,"  "Modern  Humanists." 

27.  MODERN  ENGLISH  LITERATURE.  By  G.  H.  Mair.  From  Wyatt 
and  Surrey  to  Synge  and  Yeats.  "One  of  the  best  of  this  great  series." 
— Chicago  Evening  Post. 

61.  THE  VICTORIAN  AGE  IN  LITERATURE.    By  G.  K.  Chesterton. 

40.  THE  ENGLISH  LANGUAGE.  By  L.  P.  Smith.  A  concise  history 
of  its  origin  and  development. 

66.  WRITING  ENGLISH  PROSE.  By  William  T.  Brewster,  Professor 
of  English,  Columbia  University.  "Should  be  put  into  the  hands 
of  every  man  who  is  beginning  to  write  and  of  every  teacher  of  English 
who  has  brains  enough  to  understand  sense." — New  York  Sun- 

58.  THE  NEWSPAPER.  By  G.  Binney  Dibblee.  The  first  full  account 
from  the  inside  of  newspaper  organization  as  it  exists  to-day. 

48.  GREAT  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  By  W.  P.  Trent  and  John 
Erskine,  Columbia  University. 

93.    AN  OUTLINE  OF  RUSSIAN  LITERATURE.    By  Maurice  Baring, 

author  of  "The  Russian  People,"  etc.  Tolstoi,  TourgeniefF,  Dos- 
toieffsky,  Pushkin  (the  father  of  Russian  Literature,)  Saltykov  (the 
satirist,)  Leskov,  and  many  other  authors. 

31.    LANDMARKS  IN  FRENCH  LITERATURE,  By  G.  L.  Strachey, 

Scholar  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge.  "It  is  difficult  to  imagine 
how  a  better  account  of  French  Literature  could  be  given  in  250  pages." 
— London  Times. 

64.    THE  LITERATURE  OF  GERMANY.    By  J.  G.  Robertson. 

62.  PAINTERS  AND  PAINTING.    By  Sir  Frederick  Wedmore.    With 
1 6  half -tone  illustrations. 

38.  ARCHITECTURE.  By  Prof.  W.  R.  Lethaby.  An  introduction  to 
the  history  and  theory  of  the  art  of  building. 


NATURAL  SCIENCE. 

68.    DISEASE  AND  ITS  CAUSES.    By  W.  T,  Councilman,  M.  D., 

IL.  D.,  Professor  of  Pathology,  Harvard  University. 

85.  SEX.  By  J.  Arthur  Thompson  and  Patrick  Geddes,  joint  authors 
of  "The  Evolution  of  Sex." 

71.  PLANT  LIFE.  By  J.  B.  Farmer,  D.  Sc.,  F.  R.  S.,  Professor  of  Bot- 
tany  in  the  Imperial  College  of  Science,  London.  This  very  fully 
illustrated  volume  contains  an  account  of  the  salient  features  of  plant 
form  and  function. 

63.  THE  ORIGIN  AND  NATURE  OF  LIFE.  By  Benjamin  M.  Moore, 
Professor  of  Bio-Chemistry,  Liverpool. 

90.  CHEMISTRY.  By  Raphael  Meldola,  F.  R.  S.,  Professor  of  Chem- 
istry, Finsbury  Technical  College.  Presents  the  way  in  which  the 
science  has  developed  and  the  stage  it  has  reached. 

53.  ELECTRICITY.    By    Gisbert    Kapp,   Professor    of    Electrical    En- 
gineering, University  of  Birmingham. 

54.  THE  MAKING  OF  THE  EARTH.    By  J.  W.  Gregory,  Professor  of 
Geology,   Glasgow   University.     38   maps  and   figures.     Describes 
the  origin  of  the  earth,  the  formation  and  changes  of  its  surface  and 
structure,  its  geological  history,  the  first  appearance  of  life,  and  its 
influence  upon  the  globe. 

56.  MAN:  A  HISTORY  OF  THE  HUMAN  BODY.  By  A.  Keith,  M.  D., 
Hunter ian  Professor,  Royal  College  of  Surgeons,  London.  Shows 
how  the  human  body  developed. 

74.  NERVES.  By  David  Fraser  Harris,  M.  D.,  Professor  of  Physi- 
ology, Dalhousie  University,  Halifax.  Explains  in  non-technical 
language  the  place  and  powers  of  the  nervous  system. 

21.  AN  INTRODUCTION  TO  SCIENCE.  By  Prof.  J.  Arthur  Thomson, 
Science  Editor  of  the  Home  University  Library.  For  those  unac- 
quainted with  the  scientific  volumes  in  the  series,  this  should  prove 
an  excellent  introduction. 

14.  EVOLUTION.  By  Prof.  J.  Arthur  Thomson  and  Prof.  Patrick 
Geddes.  Explains  to  the  layman  what  the  title  means  to  the  scien- 
tific world. 

23.  ASTRONOMY.    By  A.  R.  Hinks,  Chief  Assistant  at  the  Cambridge 
Observatory.    "Decidedly  original  in  substance,  and  the  most  readable 
and  informative  little  book  on  modern  astronomy  we  have  seen  for  a 
long    time . " —  Nature . 

24.  PSYCHICAL  RESEARCH.    By  Prof.  W.  F.  Barrett,  formerly  Presi- 
dent of  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research. 

9.  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PLANTS.  By  Dr.  D.  H.  Scott,  President 
of  the  Linnean  Society  of  London.  The  story  of  the  development 
of  flowering  plants,  from  the  earliest  zoological  times,  unlocked  from 
technical  language. 


43.  MATTER  AND   ENERGY.    By   F.   Soddy,   Lecturer   in   Physical 
Chemistry  and  Radioactivity,  University  of  Glasgow.    "Brilliant. 
Can  hardly  be  surpassed.    Sure  to  attract  attention." — New  York 
Sun. 

41.  PSYCHOLOGY,  THE  STUDY  OF  BEHAVIOUR.    By  William  Me- 

Dougall.  of  Oxford.    A  well  digested  summary  of  the  essentials  of  the 
science  put  in  excellent  literary  form  by  a  leading  authority. 

42.  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  PHYSIOLOGY.    By  Prof.  J.  G.  McKendrick, 

A  compact  statement  by  the  Emeritus  Professor  at  Glasgow,  for 
uninstructed  readers. 

37.  ANTHROPOLOGY.  By  R.  R.  Marett,  Reader  in  Social  Anthro- 
pology, Oxford.  Seeks  to  plot  out  and  sum  up  the  general  series  of 
changes,  bodily  and  mental,  undergone  by  man  in  the  course  of 
history.  "Excellent.  So  enthusiastic,  so  clear  and  witty,  and  so 
well  adapted  to  the  general  reader." — American  Library  Association 
Booklist. 

17.  CRIME  AND  INSANITY.  By  Dr.  C.  Mercier,  author  of  "Crime 
and  Criminals,"  etc. 

12.    THE  ANIMAL  WORLD.    By  Prof .  F.  W.  Gamble. 

15.    INTRODUCTION  TO  MATHEMATICS.     By  A.  N.  Whitehead, 

author  of  "Universal  Algebra." 

PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION. 

69.  A  HISTORY  OF  FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT.  By  John  B.  Bury, 
M.  A.,  LL.  D.,  Regius  Professor  of  Modern  History  in  Cambridge 
University.  Summarizes  the  history  of  the  long  struggle  between 
authority  and  reason  and  of  the  emergence  of  the  principle  that  co- 
ercion of  opinion  is  a  mistake. 

96.    A  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY.    By  Clement  C.  J.  Webb,  Oxford. 

35.    THE  PROBLEMS  OF  PHILOSOPHY.    By  Bertrand  Russell,  Lee- 

turer  and  Late  Fellow,  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 

60.  COMPARATIVE  RELIGION.  By  Prof.  J.  Estlin  Carpenter.  "One 
of  the  few  authorities  on  this  subject  compares  all  the  religions  to 
see  what  they  have  to  offer  on  the  great  themes  of  religion."— Chris- 
tian  Work  and  Evangelist. 

44.  BUDDHISM.    By  Mrs.  Rhys  Davids,  Lecturer  on  Indian  Philoso- 
phy, Manchester. 

46.  ENGLISH  SECTS:  A  HISTORY  OF  NONCONFORMITY.  ByW.B. 
Selbie.  Principal  of  Manchester  College,  Oxford. 


55.  MISSIONS:  THEIR  RISE  AND  DEVELOPMENT.  By  Mrs.  Man- 
dell  Creighton,  author  of  "History  of  England."  The  author  seeks  to 
prove  that  missions  have  done  more  to  civilize  the  world  than  any 
other  human  agency. 

52.  ETHICS.  By  G.  E.  Moore,  Lecturer  in  Moral  Science,  Cambridge. 
Discusses  what  is  right  and  what  is  wrong,  and  the  whys  and  where- 
fores. 

65.  THE  LITERATURE  OF  THE  OLD  TESTAMENT.  By  George  F. 
Moore.  Professor  of  the  History  of  Religion,  Harvard  University  "A 
popular  work  of  the  highest  order.  Will  be  profitable  to  anybody 
who  cares  enough  about  Bible  study  to  read  a  serious  book  on  the 
subject." — American  Journal  of  Theology. 

88.  RELIGIOUS  DEVELOPMENT  BETWEEN  OLD  AND  NEW  TESTA- 
MENTS. By  R.  H.  Charles,  Canon  of  Westminster.  Shows  how 
religious  and  ethical  thought  between  180  B.  C.  and  100  A.  D.  grew 
naturally  into  that  of  the  New  Testament. 

50.    THE  MAKING  OF  THE  NEW  TESTAMENT.    By  B.  W.  Bacon, 

Professor  of  New  Testament  Criticism,  Yale.  An  authoritative 
summary  of  the  results  of  modern  critical  research  with  regard  to 
the  origins  of  the  New  Testament. 

SOCIAL  SCIENCE. 

91.  THE  NEGRO.  By  W.  E.  Burghardt  DuBois,  author  of  "Souls  of 
Black  Folks,"  etc.  A  history  of  the  black  man  in  Africa,  America  or 
wherever  else  his  presence  has  been  or  is  important. 

77.  CO-PARTNERSHIP  AND  PROFIT  SHARING.  By  Aneurin  Wil- 
liams,  Chairman,  Executive  Committee,  International  Co-opera- 
tive Alliance,  etc.  Explains  the  various  types  of  co-partnership  and 
profit-sharing,  and  gives  details  of  the  arrangements  now  in  force  in 
many  of  the  great  industries. 

99.  POLITICAL  THOUGHT:  THE  UTILITARIANS.  FROM  BENT- 
HAM  TO  J.  S.  MILL.  By  William  L.  P.  Davidson. 

98.  POLITICAL  THOUGHT:  FROM  HERBERT  SPENCER  TO  THE 
PRESENT  DAY.  By  Ernest  Barker,  M.  A. 

79.  UNEMPLOYMENT.  By  A.  C.  Pigou,  M.  A.,  Professor  of  Political 
Economy  at  Cambridge.  The  meaning,  measurement,  distribution, 
and  effects  of  unemployment,  its  relation  to  wages,  trade  fluctuations, 
and  disputes,  and  some  proposals  of  remedy  or  relief. 


80.    COMMON-SENSE  IN  LAW.    By  Prof.  Paul  Vinogradoff,  D.  C.  L., 

LL.  D.  Social  and  Legal  Rules— Legal  Rights  and  Duties— Facts 
and  Acts  in  Law— Legislation— Custom— Judicial  Precedents— Equity 
—The  Law  of  Nature. 

49.    ELEMENTS  OF  POLITICAL  ECONOMY.    By  S.  J.  Chapman, 

Professor  of  Political  Economy  and  Dean  of  Faculty  of  Commerce 
and  Administration,  University  of  Manchester. 

11.  THE  SCIENCE  OF  WEALTH.  By  J.  A.  Hobson,  author  of  "Prob- 
lems of  Poverty."  A  study  of  the  structure  and  working  of  the  modern 
business  world. 

1.    PARLIAMENT.    ITS  HISTORY,  CONSTITUTION,  AND  PRAC- 
TICE.   By  Sir  Courtenay  P.  Ilbert,  Clerk  of  the  House  of  Commons. 

16.  LIBERALISM.  By  Prof.  L.  T.  Hobhouse,  author  of  "Democracy  and 
Reaction."  A  masterly  philosophical  and  historical  re  view  of  the  subject. 

5.  THE  STOCK  EXCHANGE.    By  F.  W.  Hirst,  Editor  of  the  London 
Economist.    Reveals  to  the  non-financial  mind  the  facts  about  invest- 
ment, speculation,  and  the  other  terms  which  the  title  suggests. 

10.  THE  SOCIALIST  MOVEMENT.  By  J.  Ramsay  Macdonald,  Chair- 
man of  the  British  Labor  Party. 

28.  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  INDUSTRY.    By  D.  H.  MacGregor,  Professor 
of  Political  Economy,  University  of  Leeds.    An  outline  of  the  recent 
changes  that  have  given  us  the  present  conditions  of  the  working  classes 
and  the  principles  involved. 

29.  ELEMENTS  OF  ENGLISH  LAW.    By  W.  M.  Geldart,  Vinerian 
Professor  of  English  Law,  Oxford.    A  simple  statement  of  the  basic 
principles  of  the  English  legal  system  on  which  that  of  the  United 
States  is  based. 

32.  THE  SCHOOL:  AN  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  STUDY  OF  EDU- 
CATION. By  J.  J.  Findlay,  Professor  of  Education,  Manchester. 
Presents  the  history,  the  psychological  basis,  and  the  theory  of  the 
school  with  a  rare  power  of  summary  and  suggestion. 

6.  IRISH  NATIONALITY.    By  Mrs.  J.  R.  Green.    A  brilliant  account 
of  the  genius  and  mission  of  the  Irish  people.    "An  entrancing  work, 
wid  I  would  advise  every  one  with  a  drop  of  Irish  blood  in  his  veins 
or  a  vein  of  Irish  sympathy  in  his  heart  to  read  it." — New  York  Times' 
Review. 


GENERAL  HISTORY  AND  GEOGRAPHY. 

102.  SERBIA.    By  L.  F.  Waring,  with  preface  by  J.  M.  Jovanovitch, 

Serbian  Minister  to  Great  Britain.  The  main  outlines  of  Serbian 
history,  with  special  emphasis  on  the  immediate  causes  of  the  war, 
and  the  question  which  will  be  of  greatest  importance  in  the  after- 
the-war  settlement. 

33.  THE  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.    By  A.  F.  Pollard,  Professor  of 
English  History,  University  of  London. 

95.  BELGIUM.  By  R.C.  K.  Ensor,  Sometime  Scholar  of  Balliol  College. 
The  geographical,  linguistic,  historical,  artistic  and  literary  associa- 
tions. 

100.  POLAND.  By  J.  Alison  Phillips,  University  of  Dublin.  The  history 
of  Poland  with  special  emphasis  upon  the  Polish  qustion  of  the  pre- 
sent day. 

34.  CANADA.    By  A.  G.  Bradley. 

72.    GERMANY  OF  TO-DAY.    By  Charles  Tower. 

78.  LATIN  AMERICA.  By  William  R.  Shepherd,  Professor  of  His- 
tory,  Columbia.  With  maps.  The  historical,  artistic,  and  commercial 
development  of  the  Central  South  American  republics. 

18.  THE  OPENING  UP  OF  AFRICA.    By  Sir  H.  H.  Johnston. 

19.  THE  CIVILIZATION  OF  CHINA.    By  H.  A.  Giles,  Professor  of 
Chinese,  Cambridge. 

36.    PEOPLES  AND  PROBLEMS  OF  INDIA.    By  Sir  T.  W.  Holderness, 

"The  best  small  treatise  dealing  with  the  range  of  subjects  fairly  in- 
dicated by  the  title."—  The  Dial. 

26.  THE  DAWN  OF  HISTORY.  By  J.  L.  Myers,  Professor  of  Ancient 
History,  Oxford. 

92.  THE  ANCIENT  EAST.  By  D.  G.  Hogarth,  M.  A.,  F.  B.  A.,  F.  S.  A., 
Connects  with  Prof.  Myers's  "Dawn  of  History"  (No.  26)  at  about 
1000  B.  C.  and  reviews  the  history  of  Assyria,  Babylon,  Cilicia,  Persia 
and  Macedon. 

30.    ROME.    By  W.  Warde  Fowler,  author  of  "Social  Life  at  Rome,"  etc. 

13.    MEDIEVAL  EUROPE.    By  H.  W.  C.  Davis,  Fellow  at  Balliol  Col- 

lege,  Oxford,  author  of  "Charlemagne,"  etc. 
3.    THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION.    By  Hilaire  Belloc. 

57.  NAPOLEON,  By  H.  A.  L.  Fisher,  Vice-Chancellor  of  Sheffield  Uni- 
versity. Author  of  "The  Republican  Tradition  in  Europe." 

20.  HISTORY  OF  OUR  TIME.  (1885-1911).    By  C.  P.  Gooch. 

22.  THE  PAPACY  AND  MODERN  TIMES.  By  Rev.  William  Barry, 
D.  D.,  author  of  "The  Papal  Monarchy,"  etc.  The  story  of  the  rise  and 
fall  of  the  Temporal  Power. 


4.    A  SHORT  HISTORY  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE.    By  G.  H.  Perns, 

author  of  "Russia  in  Revolution,"  etc. 

94.  THE  NAVY  AND  SEA  POWER.  By  David  Hannay,  author  of  "Short 
History  of  the  Royal  Navy,"  etc.  A  brief  history  of  the  navies,  sea 
Power,  and  ship  growth  of  all  nations,  including  the  rise  and  decline 
of  America  on  the  sea,  and  explaining  the  present  British  supremacy. 
8.  POLAR  EXPLORATION.  By  Dr.  W.  S.  Bruce,  Leader  of  the 
"Scotia"  expedition.  Emphasizes  the  results  of  the  expeditions. 

51.  MASTER  MARINERS.  By  John  R.  Spears,  author  of  "The  His- 
tory  of  Our  Navy,"  etc.  A  history  of  sea  craft  adventure  from  the 
earliest  times. 

86.    EXPLORATION  OF  THE  ALPS.    By  Arnold  Lunn,  M.  A. 
7.    MODERN  GEOGRAPHY.    By  Dr.  Marion  Newbigin.    Shows  the  re- 
lation  of  physical  features  to  living  things  and  to  some  of  the  chief  in- 
stitutions of  civilization. 

76.  THE  OCEAN.  A  GENERAL  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  SCIENCE  OF 
THE  SEA.  By  Sir  John  Murray ,#.  C.  B.,  Naturalist  H.  M.  S.  "Chal- 
lenger," 1872-1876,  joint  author  of  "The  Depths  of  the  Ocean,"  etc. 

84.  THE  GROWTH  OF  EUROPE.  By  Granville  Cole,  Professor  of 
Geology,  Royal  College  of  Science,  Ireland.  A  study  of  the  geology 
and  physical  geography  in  connection  with  the  political  geography. 

AMERICAN  HISTORY. 


47.  THE  COLONIAL  PERIOD  (1607-1766).  By  Charles  McLean  An- 
drews, Professor  of  American  History,  Yale. 

82.  THE  WARS  BETWEEN  ENGLAND  AND  AMERICA  (1763-1315). 
By  Theodore  C.  Smith,  Professor  of  American  History,  Williams 
College.  A  history  of  the  period,  with  especial  emphasis  on  The  Re- 
volution and  The  War  of  1812. 

67.  FROM  JEFFERSON  TO  LINCOLN  (1815-1860).  By  William  Mac- 
Donald.  Professor  of  History,  Brown  University.  The  author  makes 
the  history  of  this  period  circulate  about  constitutional  ideas  and  slavery 
sentiment. 

25.  THE  CIVIL  WAR  (1854-1865).  By  Frederick  L.  Paxson,  Professor 
of  American  History,  University  of  Wisconsin. 

69.  RECONSTRUCTION  AND  UNION  (1865-1912).  By  Paul  Leland 
Haworth.  A  History  of  the  United  States  in  our  own  times. 

OTHER  VOLUMES  IN  PREPARATION 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

19  West  44th  Street  New  York 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 
or  on  the  date  to  which  renewed.  Renewals  only: 

Tel.  No.  642-3405 

Renewals  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  date  due. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


I  • 


SEP  371»3PMQ6 


General  Library 
32 


V    "  ^r  ^ 


Y 


B  23758 


